Breaking Dawn
by Quill N. Inque
Summary: By popular demand, the sequel to "Shatterglass!" After defeating Vlad and clearing his own name, Danny struggles to adjust to life in a world that knows his secret... COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_A hero has the power to move the world__. __A true hero has the power to destroy the world but chooses not to despite what the world thinks of them."__-Joseph Patrick Lyons_

Chapter 1: Scrutiny

_(A/N: By popular demand, I submit forthwith the sequel to my popular DP Fanfic, "Shatterglass." If you, dearest reader, have not yet read it, I would highly recommend you do so; this story will make more sense if you do XD. And I beseech you, please make sure to read the author's note at the end of this chapter, as it has important information concerning my updating schedule. ^^ )_

Time, according to Albert Einstein, is relative.

Though in reality the pace of life is never once changed or altered, certain desires, emotions, and events can make years seem like minutes and days last an entire lifetime. When one is filled with desire and anticipation, he is forced to muffle his exuberance as the passing of time slows to a crawl. Life, to him, moves all the slower, as if delighting in making him squirm as he looks forward to the eventual arrival of that special someone or something. But, and to the adverse, once it has finally arrived, it seems to pass with almost unnatural speed before the person's eyes. What he has craved is over before it even seems to begin, and he is left somewhat disappointed that it all happened so fast.

The same principle holds true with dread, unfortunately. When one sees an unpleasant or perhaps even catastrophic event approaching like a thundercloud on the horizon, his heart hangs heavy and his shoulders sag with invisible weight. He is tormented almost to the point of madness as he waits on the edge of what he cannot escape, and his drawn-out days become filled with misery and despair. Indeed, life seems to grow more and more sluggish and unbearably drawn-out, almost in spite of the man's wish to get his inevitable ordeal over with. Whether the loathed occurrence is minutes, hours or years away, its actual arrival takes, for all intents and purposes, nothing less than an eternity.

This last rule was never proven more clearly than in the case of young Danny Fenton.

The ghost boy who had been so cruelly exposed and framed by the late Vlad Plasmius felt water running over his fingers as he leaned over the small sink in the tiny bathroom. The freezing liquid sloshed over Danny's face as he splashed his cheeks in an attempt to ease his mind, but no ease or reassurance rewarded the young man's efforts.

Danny gave a great sigh and turned the faucet off, his breath rapid and shallow with anxiety and barely suppressed fear as he glanced ruefully down at his bruised and battered body. It had been less than a day after his final confrontation with his arch-nemesis, and the bloody badges of courage that Danny had received at the hands of Vlad now marred his flesh forever. The skin of his left forearm, once smooth and unblemished, was now disfigured by the layer of burn tissue that had grown over it, and long, ropy, scars that bore a striking resemblance to lightning bolts now arced down the length of his back. On Danny's shoulder rested the remnants of the gunshot wound he had received in Laredo, a still-tender indentation that had only just healed over with discolored skin. Danny recalled the acrid stench of gunpowder in his nose, the deafening crack in his ear, and the unspeakable agony that had coursed through his veins as the metal slug had burrowed deep into his flesh. Bruises of mottled green, black, and blue covered almost every square inch of Danny's tired and aching form, making even the simplest of movements seem like an almost impossible task, and his balance was unsteady and perilously fragile.

Danny Fenton had almost paid the ultimate price for his fidelity to his fellow man, and now the cost of his sense of duty had been indelibly etched onto him for the rest of his days.

The ghost boy chuckled under his breath, recalling, just hours before, the silent challenge he had made to the world. _Bring it on, _Danny had said, feeling confident and flushed with the relief of having his name finally cleared.

Now, with utmost prejudice and almost sadistic glee, the world had answered the young hero's challenge in spades. In just moments, he would appear outside the steps of City Hall, the same steps Danny's feet had trod as he'd fled for his life less than a month ago, to face the scrutiny of the world he had almost died to protect.

Danny wanted nothing more than to return to his old life, to go back to the way things had been. He wanted his secret identity to become truly secret once more, wanted to go back to being the unremarkable Fenton kid in the back row of Lancer's class. Danny would have given anything to clean up the mess Vlad had made of his life, and he took a moment to bitterly curse his archenemy under his breath. Though Vlad was dead, and by Danny's own, forced hand, the villain's machinations could never be undone.

In his heart, Danny _knew_.

There was no going back.

The time would come one day to reveal his secret, and Danny had always known this. But the young hero had wanted that moment to be in a time, place, and location of _his _choosing. The right had been Danny's and Danny's alone to decide the moment in which to cast off his disguise, but Vlad had, in his infinite malice and cruelty, deprived him of that.

The _world_ now knew that Danny Fenton and Danny Phantom were one and the same. Every man, woman, and child, from the European continent to Japan and the Far East, had tuned in to their TVs and radios with morbid fascination when the identity of the infamous ghost boy had been unveiled. There was nowhere on Earth that Danny could go to resume, even temporarily, the anonymity he'd thus far enjoyed. No longer could Danny fight the good fight from the safety of the shadows.

And, to be perfectly honest, Danny didn't even want to _think _about the ordeal that awaited him once he returned to school; between the bullying Dash and the obsessed Paulina, he half-expected to be torn to shreds like a lamb at the slaughter.

The young hero took a deep, shuddering breath, gathering his nerve in preparation for what was to come. It had been made starkly clear to Danny over the course of his forced exile that the eyes of the world were now upon him. Reporters and journalists from every nation of the Earth had congregated to Amity like wolves sensing a kill, and in their hundreds they gathered at the entrance to City Hall, waiting for the long-anticipated appearance of the now-infamous ghost boy. Today, Danny's face would likely dominate every television set, every computer screen, and every mobile phone on the face of the planet.

Danny would have been quite happy to keep himself to himself and shun the light of the media, but Sam and Tucker had impressed upon him the importance of giving _his _side of the story. Though the young hero had been cleared of all charges in Mayor Sanchez's murder due to new evidence and the testimony of the gruff Agent Brody, Danny knew that his fellow men still held him in fear, awed fascination, or outright contempt. It was human nature to fear what one does not understand, and right now Danny was just about the most misunderstood person in the history of mankind.

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he remembered how the rest of the world had been so quick to condemn him, calling for his incarceration or even execution for the crime he had been framed for. How rapidly some of these people had changed their tune, in light of what Brody had unearthed! How many of his bitterest foes had turned to staunch "supporters" in the blink of an eye!

Danny, true to his selfless nature, held no animosity towards these people. He attributed the bigotry he'd endured, and would _continue _to endure, to a sort of "knee-jerk" reaction after he'd been exposed. Danny understood that he wielded enormous power, and that same power had terrified thousands when he had been branded as a murderer. It was to be expected, if not liked, for people to jump to conclusions, and it was with this in mind that Danny had purged his heart of bitterness.

And yet, though he had forgiven them, the bitter fact of the matter was that _Danny _was _also _human and therefore just as prone to stumble or falter. Though he harbored no animosity or ill will, some miniscule, less benevolent and darker part of Danny Fenton would _never forget_ the injustice that had been done to him.

Each day would be a struggle against not only the world, but also against the dark seed of bitterness that even now threatened to germinate in the young man's heart.

"Danny! Hurry up, sweetie!"

The voice of his mother, Maddie Fenton, snapped Danny out of his ruminations. "I'll be right there," he called back through the door, wiping the remnants of the icy water from his face with a brown paper towel. Danny's heart thundered against his ribs as he pushed the restroom door open, but his anxiety was lessened when he found himself immediately surrounded by a small yet supportive circle of those who mattered to him the most. Their faces gentle, their eyes kind, Danny Fenton's friends and family offered silent encouragement for the ordeal that lay ahead of him.

Jack Fenton, clad in his trademark orange jumpsuit, put an arm around his son's shoulders. "We're right behind you, Danny," he said, his face splitting into a huge grin.

"And nothing anyone else says will ever change that," Jazz added.

Someone's fingers laced through Danny's own, and a furious blush broke out over his face as Sam offered her own contribution. He remembered how they had shared their first kiss just that morning, how _wonderful _it had been, and Danny's heart filled with renewed love for her as the Goth's eyes radiated warmth and care that was uncharacteristic of Sam's fiery personality.

"You don't have to go through with this."

"Yes, I do," Danny said wearily. "Otherwise, they'll never leave us alone."

"They won't leave us alone either way, dude," Tucker pointed out.

"True," Danny admitted. "But maybe this way it won't be as bad. I don't want to have to dodge these people every time I go out of the house."

"Do you want us to come with you, Danny?" Maddie asked.

"No," her son shook his head. "This is something I need to do by myself. I don't want to draw attention to _you _guys; as long as they're focused on me, you won't have to worry about them. So, um," the teen added uncomfortably, "who exactly am I going to talking to?"

"Everyone," Sam said, her voice filled with sympathy.

"What? You're kidding!"

"Nope," Tucker clarified. "You've caught the eye of every big name in TV and journalism: CNN, Fox, NBC, National Geographic, the Discovery Channel, _The New York Times, The Chicago Herald-Tribune, The Houston Chronicle, _and even a bunch of foreign conglomerates like BBC and Radio Tokyo are all starting to foam at the mouth out there."

Danny turned pale, but Sam offered him a supportive squeeze as she tightened her grip on his palm. "It'll be okay, Danny," she said quietly. "Don't let them scare you."

"Too late," the boy said, smiling dryly as he approached the front entrance of City Hall. Even through the doors, Danny could hear the deafening roar of all the people who waited for him outside. "But thanks, anyway."

The young hero sucked in another massive, cleansing breath, squared his shoulders, and promptly pushed it open. The wooden door slammed hollowly behind Danny's receding back before blocking him from view completely, and Sam bit her lip with worry…

_Meanwhile…_

No sooner had Danny Fenton emerged into the warm spring air than he was promptly struck blind by the flashing of thousands of cameras. Brightly colored spots danced frenziedly before the boy's vision, and the effect was so disorienting that Danny had to fight to keep from losing his balance. The cries and shouts of those around him grew to earsplitting proportions as each person strove to be heard over everyone else, and fear momentarily seized Danny's heart as he comprehended at last the sheer enormity of the consequences of his exposure.

The Plexiglas podium which stood at the summit of City Hall's marble stairway was, to Danny, nothing less than an executioner's block, and he fought to keep from swallowing a nervous gulp as he hesitatingly brought the microphone to his mouth.

Silence, instantaneous, stark, and foreboding, abruptly settled in the air.

"Uh…hi," he said lamely, mentally kicking himself.

A ripple of laughter greeted this, and Danny felt the tips of his ears begin to burn. "My name is Danny Fenton," he began, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I am fourteen years old, and currently a freshman at Casper High School. My parents are noted ghost experts Jack and Maddie Fenton, and I have one older sister, Jazz."

Without warning, two rings of brilliant, blinding light appeared in the middle of Danny's chest, traveling up and down his entire body and wiping away the now-defunct façade of his human identity. Danny's shirt and jeans were rapidly replaced by a matte-black jumpsuit and combat boots, and the signature "DP" logo that Sam had given him some time before was now clearly visible on the young man's torso. His cerulean eyes now burned a bright, eerie green, and Danny's raven-black hair was suddenly bleached an icy white as cries of alarm and astonishment reached his ears.

The twin rings of transformation suddenly vanished, and Danny Phantom hovered slightly above the ground as he continued, "I wanted to talk to you guys because, to be honest, I don't see the point in trying to maintain a secret identity anymore, and I also want to set the record straight about Mayor Sanchez's death. I'll also answer any, uh, questions you might have. About me, I mean."

"_You_ killed Sanchez, _freak_!" someone shouted. "What else is there to know?"

"That's not true," Danny replied quietly, trying not to show how much the man's remark had hurt him. "I was framed."

"Yeah?" the heckler sneered. "How?"

"Vlad Masters," Danny replied simply. "Or Vlad Plasmius, as he liked to be called. My friends and I were on a field trip to City Hall when I sensed a ghost-"

"Excuse me, Daniel-san," a man with a heavy Oriental accent asked. "How do you _sense _ghosts?"

"Well," Danny rubbed the back of his neck as he searched for an appropriate allusion for his ability. "You know how, when you're out on a really cold day, your breathing comes out in a sort of fog? It's kinda like that; when a ghost is around, my breath becomes colder and starts forming into wisps or cloud."

The journalist scribbled furiously on his notepad, and Danny picked up his story. "Anyway, I was guided by my ghost-breath and walked in on Vlad and Mayor Sanchez." The boy's face darkened at the memory. "Vlad had just finished roasting him in his chair."

"Why didn't you stop him?" someone demanded. "You should have gotten there sooner! Some hero _you _are!"

"Vlad was…different," Danny admitted, doing his best to ignore the stinging jibe. "He was only half-ghost, like me, and because of his human side my ghost-sense didn't detect him as quickly as it would have a full-fledged ghost. Vlad attacked me with the Plasmius Maximus and vanished, and I reverted to my human form in front of the Mayor's security detail."

"What's the Plasmius Maximus?"another person inquired.

"Vlad was a skilled inventor, since he was the head of DALV," Danny replied. "The Maximus was a device that was built to temporarily cancel out my ghost powers and force me to change back. He timed it perfectly, framing me and exposing me at the same time."

"If you were innocent, why run?"A reporter with a thick Boston accent piped up.

Danny's eyes turned to him, and his voice was just a little bit colder. "Who would've believed me?"

"Point taken," the Bostonian nodded.

"What did Vlad have against you?" another journalist inquired.

"Vlad holds an old grudge against my father," Danny shrugged. "He got his powers in an accident, like me, and he blamed Dad for what happened to him."

"What kind of accident gave you these powers?" a woman asked instantly.

"I'd rather not say," the young man told her, shifting his weight uncomfortably. "It's still classified."

"Where is Vlad Plasmius now?" A gravelly, older person demanded. "Did he escape?"

Danny fought not to stiffen, and he forced back the waves of nausea at the memory of what the archvillain had forced him to do. His brain swam as the terrible deed replayed before his eyes with blinding speed…

_The iron rebar, plunging into Vlad's chest…His triumphant smirk…his last, final taunt…_

"_Well done, Daniel. Well done, indeed…"_

_And blood…Blood, everywhere…._

Something unseen forced Danny back to the present, and he looked the speaker in the eye. "He's dead," the young man answered flatly.

There was a palpable moment of uncomfortable silence before a blonde-haired anchor for CNN caught Danny's attention. "Mr. Fenton, what sort of powers do you have?"

Danny looked somewhat hesitant to answer this one. He did not want to look as though he were boasting or bragging. "Well…enhanced speed, strength, and endurance. I can turn invisible, walk through solid objects, and fly. I can also use ectoplasm-"

"Ecto-what?"

"Ectoplasm," Danny elaborated, conjuring a small, glowing green sphere in his hand before stretching it out into a transparent, shield-like screen. "Ghostly energy. I can create and manipulate it into all sorts of things: projectiles, solid objects, and stuff like that. I can do the same thing with ice-"

"Ice?" the reporter stared. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Danny made an effort to look modest as he placed his palm upon the podium and promptly covered it in a thin, web-like layer of feathery frost. "That one's relatively new. Great for chilling a soda, though."

Ribald laughter greeted this comment, and Danny felt enormously relieved as the mood began to lighten somewhat.

"What does it feel like when you transform?" a short, squat man asked in an English drawl.

The ghost boy had to think about the answer to that one. "I guess…It's like dying, but only halfway. My heartbeat and breathing slow down, my reflexes quicken, and pain becomes a lot more bearable because my nerves become less sensitive. I can go for longer without food and water than I usually could, but if my body needs to rest or eat the need is multiplied when I change back."

"Mr. Fenton, what made you decide to take up ghost-hunting? Weren't you scared that you'd be killed?"

Again, Danny fought to keep the blood from leaving his face as he recalled how close he had come to perishing at the hands of Vlad Plasmius. He could still _hear _the Soul Shredder's deadly song as it swept toward his exposed neck. "Well, if not me, then who?" Danny asked after a moment. "But I'm not gonna lie to you guys: I _was _afraid, and I still _am_ afraid. Anyone would be scared of dying; you just get used to the fear after a while."

"What will you do, now that your secret is out?"

"To be honest, I'd like to finish high school, for starters," Danny grinned ruefully. "Between that and ghost-hunting, I think my schedule will be pretty full."

A chorus of angry shouts greeted this remark, and though they were relatively few in number compared to the size of the crowd, their hateful words cut deeply.

"We don't _need_ you to protect us, _freak!"_ an unseen bigot shrieked.

"_You're _the cause of all of this!"

"I don't care what the kid says! I still think he murdered Sanchez! He's lying!"

"Go away and die, _freak!"_

"You don't belong here!"

"You're just a ghost! Why should we trust _you?"_

Danny fought to control the anger and hurt that made his heart plunge into his innards-

-But then, from somewhere within the packed ranks of humanity, an outraged man called out his support for Danny. "What is _wrong _with you people?" he demanded. "Amity would have been overrun by ghosts a dozen times over if the kid hadn't shown some responsibility!"

"Yeah!" a second supporter, a woman this time, cried out shrilly. "Danny's already been through the ringer! Just _look _at him! God, you are _such _ingrates!"

"Leave him alone! He's just a boy!"

"You racist bigots!"

Inwardly, Danny glowed at the fact that there were people who genuinely appreciated him, and he was amazed and utterly grateful as the prejudiced catcallers either fell silent or slunk away. A sigh of relief and happiness filled his lungs, and the feeling was so overwhelming that he had to clutch the rim of the podium for support.

"So, uh, thank you all for your time," he said eagerly snapping up the opportunity to bring the interview to a close. "I'd like to stay longer, but I've got about five weeks of homework with my name on it."

Another round of rippling, sympathetic laughter was heard as Danny darted back inside like a turtle into its shell, and one glimpse of the look on the young man's face told his loved ones all they needed to know.

"That bad, huh?" Tucker asked cheerfully.

Danny's entire body sagged. "Let's _never_ do that again, okay?"

"You wouldn't have time even if you did," Sam teased him mercilessly. "Tomorrow's a school day."

The young hero resisted the urge to cradle his head in his hands.

"Don't remind me_…"_

A/N: I know what you're all thinking, and yes, I am well aware that I pushed back the publication date of this story. But for God's sake, I KNOW that if I don't crank out at least ONE chapter of it I'm gonna lose what little is left of my sanity. XD However, I wanna be honest with you guys right up front: I can by no means guarantee that I will be able to update as rapidly as I would like. Final exams are rapidly approaching, and even after school is out I will be bound for a month-long vacation in Canada. (Yeah, Mom and Dad, I absolutely can't stand the cold, but I think a trip to CANADA would be just fine. _) The journey, though I'm sure it will be thrilling, will take almost a month, and being so far up north I can't say for certain that I will always have access to the Internet. I will try my damnedest to write as many chapters as I can, but, again, I can make no predictions as to when the next installment will be up. Rest assured that I will resume my regular updating schedule as soon as things settle down; on THAT, you have my solemn oath. The theme of this story, by the way, is "Path" by "Apocalyptica." You can find it on Youtube, under the username, "senshizelda."

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	2. Chapter 2

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_The humans…They __will__ tire of you. They have already turned against you…"-Prince Nuada, "Hellboy II: The Golden Army" (2008)_

Chapter 2: Back to School, Part 1

Danny Fenton had not slept well that night.

Anxiety and worry clawed in his gut like some kind of restless, wild and ravenous animal, and so enormous was young Danny's trepidation of returning to school that his stomach roiled and churned like a furiously frothing cauldron. His mind had whirled and danced with dervishes of restless, ceaseless thought that stole all possibility of rest away, and it was until the first rays of the sun had peeked over the distant clouds that he'd lain awake, exhausted yet unable to be at ease, in his bed.

Danny had, over the course of that long, endless night, come very close to genuine tears at the thought of having to go to school the next day. Dash, his longtime tormentor, would undoubtedly have a field day of teasing and bullying, and those who did not partake in Danny's belittlement would either try to ingratiate themselves to him or shun him with cold indifference. A few, perhaps, might move to accept him, but the thought of the entire school, nay, the entire _town _looking at him like some kind of escaped science experiment had made Danny feel sick.

He had already gotten a taste of what awaited him in the unforgiving, crowded corridors of Casper High, and Danny was far from encouraged. Over and over, the hateful catcalls and jeers of his detractors had played out in his head like some kind of merciless, broken record, and even in his mind's eye Danny could see their faces, twisted with malice and bigotry, as they directed their fear and anger towards him.

If such unreasonable, reckless prejudice was what awaited him in the classroom, Danny's life as a student would be transformed into a waking nightmare. The combined efforts of Dash and Paulina were bad enough, but if the entire _school_ was out to get him, even Danny and his friends would have their work cut out for them.

Danny had, for a second time, cursed the memory of Vladimir Plasmius long and bitterly into the wee hours of the morning, and the young man thought to himself that whatever unspeakable torment his nemesis was enduring in the fiery pits of Hell, it wasn't nearly enough. The shadow of Vlad's last act of cruelty had fallen over Danny Fenton, and no matter where he went or what he did, he would never be rid of it. It seemed as if the poison of Vlad's malice and evil had stained the very surface of the Earth, infecting its people with contagion of the villain's cruelty.

He had almost _died _for these people. Danny had been willing to throw his young life away for them, and yet the people he had sacrificed so much to save had thus far only returned his heroism and valor with revulsion and disgust.

At least he was _alive _at all. Danny knew perfectly well that he would have been moldering in his grave right now if not for the timely arrival of Agent Thomas Brody.

A miniscule smile split Danny's face as his mind began to wander once more, his face staring forlornly out of the window of Jazz's car as he recalled the stalwart ex-bureaucrat. It was largely by Brody's doing that the (albeit justified) murder of Vlad Plasmius had been swept under the proverbial rug. The FBI Agent who had hounded Danny relentlessly over an ocean and several continents had turned from inexorable foe to stalwart friend when he had seen Danny's valor, and it was Brody who had initiated the self-destruct sequence at Vlad's underground lair. The villain's hideout had been utterly destroyed in the ensuing, cataclysmic blast along with Vlad's body, and the destruction was so total that law enforcement could salvage precious little from the gaping crater. Brody had cleared Danny's name and given him what little was left of his life back, and for that the ghost boy would always be grateful.

_I wonder what he's been up to, _Danny wondered idly, a twinge of guilt flashing through him. _Maybe I should send Brody a card or something. I never really got to thank him, after all…_

Danny's smile turned a little sad. Brody had retired to a remote cabin high in the spires of the Colorado Rockies only a short time after he'd actually met him in person, and Danny actually felt somewhat disappointed that Brody hadn't stuck around.

His supporters and advocates, he had learned, were too few and far in between. Though his name was cleared in the eyes of the law, it would take far longer to lift the cloud of suspicion that hung about him in the eyes of everyone else.

Danny felt the blood pounding in his ears as Jazz's pink convertible lurched into the battered section of Casper High's parking lot which had been reserved for student drivers. The port-cache under which the buses had stalled now seemed to shake as the yellow vehicles emptied their human cargoes onto the cracked sidewalk, and the air hung heavy with the scent of diesel fuel and the thrum of the engines. The pneumatic doors of each large bus opened with a sharp, pneumatic hiss, and Danny instinctively crouched low in the back seat as more and more students began loitering outside the school's front entrance. No one was staring at him, not yet, for the long chain of massive yellow vehicles blocked their view-

-But then, in keeping with Danny's usual run of luck, the bus drivers, oblivious to his plight, chose that insightful moment to slowly pull away and out into the street.

This left poor Danny fully exposed to the almost burning gaze of hundreds of staring eyes. The unblinking concentration of his classmates seared him with an almost physical pain, and Danny instinctively looked away. The students regarded him with a mixture of surprise, awe, indifference, and open malice, and Sam gently put her hand on Danny's shoulder to strengthen his wavering will.

"C'mon," she muttered. "Don't let them get to you, Danny."

"We're right behind you," Tucker added his own support. "And besides, if Dash tries to mess with you, Sam will probably tear out his ribcage and spill his steaming viscera into the street."

"Damn right, I will," Sam retorted. "If he would just _give _me an excuse…"

"Don't, Sam," Danny said quietly, retrieving his backpack from the trunk. "Dash isn't worth it. None of them are. Just let them have their kicks, and sooner or later they'll go find someone else to push around."

Sam was utterly aghast. "_What?_ Danny, you _need _to start sticking up for yourself! Now that everyone knows who you are, you'll be more of a target than ever! You can't afford to let people like Dash push you around anymore!"

"Are you kidding?" Danny grinned sardonically. "If I so much as _glare _at someone, some jerk will have me brought up on assault charges or something. I'm already up to my ears in trouble: there are too many people following my life like a stupid Twitter page, too many media moguls filming my every step, and too many self-important neighborhood watch groups, activists and politicians who are just _looking _for a chance to get me locked up for incarceration or study. Have you _seen _the sites that have popped up on the Web, what they're saying about me? For Pete's sake, there's a Senator from Iowa who's using a promise to put me away as a means to get into office! I can't do _anything _without the rest of the world hearing about it, Sam, and a lot of people are already trying to convince everyone else that I'm some kind of ectoplasmic boogeyman in a teenager's skin. The only way to stop them is to prove them wrong, and to do that…I can't fight back, no matter how much I'd like to. One slip-up might be all it takes; they'll use anything they can find."

Danny shouldered his backpack morosely, his still-aching and injured body protesting as he adjusted the weight of his textbooks. The gravel _crunched _beneath his shoes as the young hero trod toward the unforgiving world of high school, and his entire body radiated not only sad resignation, but also a quiet, unyielding and iron-clad will.

Sam stared after him in disbelief.

"He's changed," she said quietly.

"The question is," Tucker added, a worried look on his normally cheerful face, "for better…or worse?"

_Meanwhile…_

Despite Danny's absence over the past month, the halls and classrooms of Casper High had not changed at all. The tiles were still scuffed and scratched, the lockers dented and worn, and the corridors smelled of stale chewing gum, disinfectant, pencil lead, and the pungent scent of packed humanity.

And packed it was, for it seemed everyone in the entire school had turned out to catch a glimpse of the now-famous Danny Fenton. Their voices hushed, their eyes widened with shock, Danny was tempted to plug his ears as snatches of conspiratorial whispering reached him.

"I still can't believe it was the Fenton kid all along…"

"Wasn't he, like, wanted for murder or something?"

"He was on TV last night!"

"How do you think he got his powers?"

Danny felt his heart speed up again as the other students continued to ogle at him, and his footfalls echoed deafeningly in the now-silent hallway as he made to turn the corner. He was eager to get to homeroom, if only for the fact that schoolwork would take his mind off of things like this.

Danny felt the blood chill in his veins. While the judgment of the rest of the student body had weighed heavy on his shoulders, he had never stopped to consider how his _teachers _might react to his exposure! If Lancer and the rest of the faculty were as bigoted as everyone else seemed to be...

The young man closed his eyes briefly. The image didn't bear thinking about.

"Hello, Danny."

The sudden, unexpected whisper of a sultry voice in his ear made the ghost boy flinch instinctively before he realized who it belonged to. _That _conclusion was hardly a relief, however, and Danny kept his face carefully neutral as he turned around to see Paulina standing behind him.

"Hi, Paulina," he said politely. However unwanted her company may have been, the cheerleader had so far done nothing to warrant Danny's animosity.

"I saw you on the news yesterday," Paulina continued, tracing a finger along the tip of Danny's jawline. "You were so brave, speaking up like that," she murmured. "And I always _did _like you."

"Are you talking about me or Danny _Phantom?"_ he replied coldly, brushing her hand away. Danny did _not _like where this conversation was heading. "You're not fooling me or anyone else, Paulina; it's my ghost half that you 'love,' not me."

"I'm sure I could convince you otherwise."

"I already _have _a girlfriend," Danny stated, his tone flat.

"Yeah?" Paulina pouted. "Who?"

"Sam Manson."

Paulina's face twisted into a mask of disgust. "You're kidding_,_" the cheerleader snarled.

"I've never been more serious," Danny looked her in the eye, unafraid. "And while I'm at it, I want to set the record straight: I'm. Not. Interested. In. You."

"Wrong answer, Fen-toad," a new and _very _unwelcome voice interrupted Danny without warning. "You should have taken Paulina up on her offer. Now look, you hurt her feelings! "

Danny slowly turned around again to face a grinning Dash Baxter and several of his cronies. "Since when did _you_ care about anyone else's feelings?" he asked.

"I _do _care about people's feelings, just not about _yours_," Dash sneered back. "Where have you been all this time, Fenton? I was starting to worry that I'd lose my favorite punching bag!"

Danny's fought to control his temper, but nonetheless his eyes flashed green with anger as he stared Dash Baxter down. "I need to get moving, or I'll be late for class," he said.

"Tough luck for you then, Fen-turd," Dash laughed, grabbing Danny by the collar of his shirt. "We're not done here!"

Danny's eyes began to glow even brighter. "Yes. We are."

Dash faltered momentarily, taken aback by Danny's passive yet unyielding resistance, and he almost cried out in alarm as Danny phased right through his hand.

"You want to know where I've been?" the ghost boy asked, his voice cracking. "Trying to survive, for starters! Do you _know _how many times I've come close to dying in the past month alone? _I've lost count._ I have fought _tanks_, _cops_, and _fighter jets_, I have been _punched_, _electrocuted, shot_, and almost _decapitated_, and _all the while_ I've had to run for my life because my archenemy framed me for _murder_ and tried to have me _executed_!"

Danny, still lacking solidity, levitated himself off of the ground and flew right through Dash's torso without another word. Like an arrow speeding from a bow, the ghost boy shot down the corridor in his haste and turned into the familiar door of Lancer's classroom-

-But Danny, unfortunately, miscalculated on his aerial maneuver. The encounter with Dash had rattled his focus, and so instead of stopping at the entrance, he missed it completely and phased all the way through the adjoining wall.

Cries of astonishment and alarm sounded in Danny's ears as the hard, unforgiving floor rushed up to meet him, and the ghost boy struggled to his feet, red with embarrassment, as his head rang from the impact. Everyone was staring at him in shock, and for this reason the ghost boy averted his eyes so as not to bear witness to their scrutiny.

The only comfort Danny had was that Sam and Tucker had save a seat for him.

"Welcome back, Mr. Fenton," Lancer, Danny's longtime teacher, looked up from taking attendance as a small smile hovered on his face. "Theatrical as your entrance into this room of learning was, perhaps it would be better if you tried the door next time."

"Sorry," Danny muttered, looking away as he went to take a seat.

"Mr. Fenton?"

"Yeah?"

"See me after class."

Danny resisted the urge to bang his head repeatedly against his desk. _Oh, come ON! _ _What'd I do _now?

"Now, as many of you may remember, for the past few weeks we have been covering and analyzing the works of many great authors, such as Shakespeare and Emerson," Lance droned as he began the lesson.

_No, I _don't _remember, _Danny thought fiercely. _I was too busy trying to avoid the electric chair._

"We concluded _Romeo and Juliet _on Friday," the teacher continued, "and if any of you bothered to do the homework assignment I gave over the weekend, please pass it up now."

If Danny had happened to have a sword on him at that moment, he would have seriously considered impaling himself on it. The young man's face fell as more and more of his classmates handed in their leaves of paper, and the skin on Danny's arm broke out into goosebumps as Lancer fixed his gaze upon him once more.

"Do you have your homework, Mr. Fenton?"

"No," Danny admitted, biting down on the thousands of waspish remarks that bubbled in his throat. As always, he expected a lecture from his teacher, followed by a detention or perhaps punishment work, but then the young man was astounded when Lancer merely nodded in response.

"That's understandable, Mr. Fenton. My colleagues and I have been made aware that there were…_extenuating circumstances _concerning your absence."

"Really?" Danny asked, bewildered, forgetting momentarily that everyone else was still ogling at him.

"Very much so," Lancer replied. "Now, if you will open your textbooks to page four hundred and thirty-five, we will begin our journey into the works of J.R.R. Tolkien."

_That _made Danny perk up his ears.

"Isn't he the guy who wrote 'Lord of the Rings'?" someone asked.

"Indeed," Lancer nodded. "Tolkien also wrote several other books as well: _The Silmarillion _covers much of the supposed history and pre-history of Middle-Earth, and _The Unfinished Tales _provides a valuable companion to the well-known trilogy. More recently, Tolkien's son Christopher wrote _The Children of Hurin, _a tragic tale concerning a hero whose family has been cursed by the Dark Lord, Morgoth."

"I thought the other guy was supposed to be the villain," another student added. "Snakehead or something, right?"

"I believe you are referring to Sauron, and the answer is no," Lancer began warming to the subject. "Morgoth was the _first_ Dark Lord, a fallen Valar, or god, who was cast out of the heavenly realm of Valinor. It was Morgoth who began the practice of breeding Orcs, Balrogs and even dragons for his armies, and it was also Morgoth who turned _Sauron _to evil. Sauron, you see, was of a lesser race of angelic beings call Maiar who served the Valar, and in time he actually became Morgoth's chief lieutenant. Sauron managed to escape after Morgoth's downfall, and over many centuries he set himself up as a Dark Lord in his own right."

"_The Silmarillion _provides a more in-depth look at Morgoth, but it is _The Children of Hurin_ that we will look at today," Lancer continued. "The book takes place thousands of years before the events of _The Hobbit, _during what Tolkien referred to as the 'First Age' of Middle Earth. If you will come and pick up a copy from my desk, we can begin."

_Much later…._

Tucker glanced almost in grudging respect at the book in front of him as the shrill ringing of the bell sounded in his ears.

"You know…I actually _enjoyed _that," he said, shoving the novel into his backpack. "And the fact that Turin has a black sword is just _beyond _cool."

"I feel kinda sorry for him," Sam shrugged. "He can't catch a break."

"That makes two of us," Danny muttered. "I don't suppose they used _me _as a character base, did they?"

"I doubt it, Mr. Fenton," Lancer said from behind. "Though if that were true, it would not surprise me."

"What are you talking about?" Danny replied, puzzled, as he turned to face him.

"You and Turin have much more in common than you think," Lancer nodded at the book in Danny's fingers. "I thought of you many times when I reread that novel just the other day, especially in light of all that's happened recently. Why don't you borrow that for now and try to finish it? I can always get more copies, after all, and there are probably still some spares left in the library."

"Uh…"

"I'll award you fifty bonus points if you can finish the book and tell me at least two different ways you and Turin are alike," Lancer added.

Danny wasn't about to pass _that _up. "Deal," he conceded, before remembering something else. "Wasn't there something else you wanted to see me for?"

Lancer grinned mysteriously. "I just did," he said. "Have a nice afternoon."

"Not likely," Danny replied under his breath, turning to go-

"One more thing, Mr. Fenton," Lancer's voice stopped him once more.

Danny fought to stifle his exasperation. "What?"

His teacher looked him in the eye calmly, and his tone was surprisingly sincere.

"I'm glad you're all right. You might choose not to believe it, but I _was _rather concerned. Give my regards to your parents, would you?"

"Sure," Danny nodded, his eyes grateful before he sped along his way to his next class.

Lancer could not have known it, but his relatively small contribution in the effort to lift Danny's spirits had an effect that even he could not have anticipated. The unexpected words of kindness from Danny's normally dour and dry-mannered teacher had been _just_ what the proverbial doctor had ordered.

In the crowded hallway, Danny was jostled and shoved as he raced to beat the clock, and the students resembled little more than herds of cattle as they poured into the corridor in ever-increasing numbers. But even as Danny's personal space vanished completely, his heart rose a little bit higher in his chest.

Danny, ever so slowly, began daring to hope that perhaps he was not as isolated as he may have feared. Perhaps people would accept him, given time. Perhaps…his ordeal was over.

But he was wrong.

So very wrong.

Before Danny's life even began to improve, his days were about to get a _whole lot darker…_

A/N: Well, that doesn't bode well! XD I'm sorry I couldn't fit all of Danny's school day into one chapter, but I just can't write a chapter that big in one sitting right now, what with homework and all. *Cries* I'll try to have the next installment up tomorrow, but after that I can't say for certain when I'll be able to update. And PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have any ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^ Finally, as a reward for your patience, I will confirm that we have not seen the last of Agent Brody, and Danny's academic career, as well as the rest of his life, is only gonna get more difficult. XD

(My God, I think I'm turning into a sadist...)

Your humble servant,

Quill N. Inque.

P.S. I gotta say, I was FLOORED by the reaction I got to this story! I was truly startled at how many people favorited it or put it on a story alert, and I cannot express enough how happy I am that you're all enjoying "Breaking Dawn" so much! Thanks, everybody. ^^


	3. Chapter 3

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 3: Back to School, Part 2

Danny Fenton's battered tray of steaming, viscous glop lay utterly abandoned on the small picnic table where he and his friends had taken their ease, and the mysterious, unappetizing sludge was rapidly beginning to cool as Danny kept his head buried in the book in front of him.

Though he was loathe to admit it to anyone, even to himself, he now agreed with Tucker: the extra-credit project Lancer had given the young hero was not at all unpleasant. The sky overhead was as clear and flawless as a cut sapphire as Danny became further engrossed in his novel, and the noises of conversation that buzzed around the schoolyard faded into a dull roar as he turned the page…

_Therefore after the Dark Lord's triumph at the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, Hurin, father of Turin, was brought before Morgoth and chained and set in slow torment. But after a while Morgoth offered him the chance to be set free if he but divulged the counsel of the King, for Morgoth knew by his arts and spies that Hurin had the King's friendship…_

Danny paused for a moment. Such Machiavellian tactics were certainly reminiscent of Vlad, and the memory of his foe surfaced in his brain like a sour taste in his mouth before he continued.

What next he read sent chills up his spine.

_But Hurin, staunch and brave, mocked Morgoth's offer and defied him openly, and then wrath mustered in the Dark Lord, who said, "Yet I may come of you, and all of your accursed house, and you shall be broken on my will." Then, stretching out his arm, Morgoth cursed Hurin and all of his household. "Behold! The shadow of my thought shall lie upon them wherever they go, and my hate shall pursue them to the ends of the world! Upon all whom you love my curse will weigh like a shadow of doom, and it shall bring them into darkness and despair! Wherever they go, evil shall arise! Whenever they speak, their words shall bring ill counsel! Whatsoever they do shall turn against them! They shall die without hope, cursing both life and death!"_

Danny's face grew somewhat pale. _That…that is almost exactly what Vlad tried to do to __me__, _he thought, stunned at how _close _the similarities were. _Vlad, like Morgoth, wanted to make everyone I care about suffer because he hated me so much. I ended him, I was forced to, and yet even then he cursed me by exposing me to the world, just like Morgoth cursed Hurin. _

_And if Vlad actually _did _end up being some kind of "Dark Lord," it would _not _surprise me,_ the ghost boy added wryly.

"Danny?"

The voice of Sam Manson caused his head to snap up, and the Goth's familiar, comforting tone was almost a siren's song as it returned Danny to the present.

"Yeah?"

"Enjoying your book?" Sam grinned. "You've hardly said a word this entire time."

"I know," Tucker said teasingly. "Isn't it grea-OW!"

The self-confessed geek's face crinkled as Sam kicked him in the shins under the table, and Danny, with visible hesitation, reluctantly put his book aside.

"Sorry, Sam," he apologized, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly."I didn't mean to ignore you."

"We know," Sam replied, an understanding look on her face. "If I were in your situation, I'd look for an escape, too."

"You gonna eat that, Danny?" Tucker pointed to the young man's tray as it lay forlornly abandoned at the edge of the table.

Danny grimaced in distaste. "How can you stomach that stuff? I don't think even the _lunch ladies_ know what's in it!"

"It's meat, dude," Tucker winked smarmily at Sam. "And that makes it good enough for me."

Sam turned a little green as her friend dug into Danny's tray with exuberance. "You're disgusting."

"Sticks and stones," Tucker retorted around a mouthful of gristly lumps.

Danny, an amused smile about his lips, turned back to his book-

"'Scuse me," a new, unexpected arrival to the friends' table suddenly interjected. "Aren't you Danny Phantom?"

Danny tried to conceal his frustration at having his moment of peace interrupted as he gaze at the student who'd come up to speak with him. He didn't know the other boy, not personally, but then again Danny recognized a lot of faces that had, as of yet, no names to go with them. He looked to be about the same age as Danny, and the hero decided to answer his inquiry for the sake of going back to his book.

Besides, he'd already been asked that question more than a dozen times today. One more was hardly of any consequence.

"Yeah," Danny replied wearily. "I am."

A malicious sneer crossed the other student's lips as he suddenly lunged forward, knocking Danny's fine reading out of his hands and sending it _splashing _into the mud. The action was so sudden and unexpected that it took all three friends momentarily off-guard.

Danny's newest detractor gave him a triumphant smirk. "Freak," he sneered, before shoving his hands in his pockets and slouching away.

Sam, a thunderous expression on her face, was looking positively rabid as she went to follow the anonymous bully, but Danny's palm clapped her shoulder gently and eased her back down onto the bench.

"Let him go," he said tiredly, picking up the now-tarnished literary work and trying vainly to shake the mud and dirty water from its pages as the one o'clock bell began to ring. "I told you before: it's not worth it, and it'd be too risky to confront him, anyway."

"He'd better hope I don't catch him alone," Sam snarled, grabbing her books with far more force than was actually necessary. "I swear to God, I'll kick his ass so hard he'll have to drop his pants to say hello!"

Danny felt a fresh wave of affection for Sam wash over him. "I appreciate the thought," he said, taking her hand in his own as he and his friends joined the massive exodus back inside.

The edges thick book's pages were already beginning to crust over with hardened slime when Danny, still chuckling to himself over his girlfriend's fiery temper, darted into his classroom only seconds before another, ear-piercing shriek let everyone know that classes had resumed. He looked almost mournfully at the now-battered novel as he put inside his book-bag, and once more Danny tried not to notice the piercing stares of his classmates as every eye in the room automatically shifted to him.

"Ah, Mr. Fenton," Claudia Barousse, Danny's algebra teacher, narrowed her eyes in barely contained disgust. "I'm _so _glad that you chose to join the rest of your _human _classmates, albeit five minutes late."

She was the spitting image of Satan's own headmistress. Barousse's face was permanently creased in a frown, her nose sharp like the beak of a bird, her cheeks narrow and angular, and her demeanor severe. Her graying hair was tied up in a severe bun, and cold, sharp eyes the color of tarnished pennies held a look of utter loathing as they gazed upon Danny. Barousse was no longer young, for her fingers were gnarled and scowling wrinkles had been etched in between her eyebrows. Horn-rimmed glasses sat sternly upon the bridge of her blade-like nose, and the immaculate, drab grey suit and business skirt she wore only served to emphasize her air of menace.

All in all, Barousse looked the part of every student's worst nightmare, and for the young hero, that nightmare was about to become reality.

Danny checked the clock and was suddenly confused. "I got here just before the bell," he protested. "It hasn't even been thirty seconds._"_

"I do not tolerate insubordination from my _normal _students," Barousse said coldly. "And I will certainly not accept it from someone like _you. _You may expect special treatment for your so-called 'heroism,' but you will find none of it in _my _classroom. I personally find it distasteful to have a common _criminal _within these hallowed walls, but despite my objections the school board is convinced of your innocence. Have a five-page essay on the consequences of disrespecting a teacher on my desk by noon tomorrow. And I tell you right now, Mr. _Phantom, _that I will personally ensure that one such as _you _will _never _earn a passing grade in this class."

There was a chorus of loud snickers as Danny's peers delighted in his persecution, and Danny felt his hands clench beneath his desk as Barousse went on, "Don't follow Mr. Fenton's example, ladies and gentlemen," she declared, her eyes dancing evilly. "Otherwise you might end up just like him, instead of being perfectly _normal _and_ human _young men and women."

Danny, throughout all of this, was utterly taken aback. Barousse had never been his favorite teacher, but he was stunned at the teacher's undisguised prejudice and clear statement of ill intent towards him. But then his shock turned to resignation as he realized, belatedly, that it had been quite unrealistic to expect every teacher to be as accepting as Lancer.

"Now, if you will open your textbooks, those of you who can turn the pages without phasing through them, we will pick up where we left off last week in the middle of chapter nine."

Danny, his fingers shaking with humiliation, heaved the obese manual onto his desk, and started flipping through it.

"Mr. Fenton," Barousse's smile was that of a shark that's spotted a bare behind. "Why don't _you _come up and demonstrate for us the quadratic formula? Surely someone as…_talented _as you would have no trouble solving it."

Danny resisted the urge to tear his textbook. Barousse knew, as he did, that he had not the slightest idea what she was talking about. The teacher was merely trying to humiliate him in front of the other students again.

But in spite of this, Danny felt defiance well in his heart as Barousse scrawled a complicated theorem onto the blackboard. The woman's smile was chilly as she beckoned Danny forward, and the hero returned it with one of his own.

_I may not be able to stop you,_ he thought fiercely, picking up the chalk. _But I can sure as hell make you eat your words._

Danny's face screwed in concentration as the wheels in his brain spun into overdrive, and with utter determination he set out to find the correct answer purely to spite his newest enemy. Nothing would drive Barousse up the wall more than having her sadistic plan turned upon itself.

After more than five minutes (during which Barousse gave a loud theatrical yawn, to the hilarity of all present), Danny finally put his writing instrument aside and stepped back to let the smirking woman inspect his work. His veins boiled with outrage at the sheer _glee _in which she painstakingly checked for any possible error that she could use to further embarrass him, and the silence that passed as Barousse picked through the numbers was almost unbearable…

But then, slowly, the woman's superior grin began to grow smaller and smaller as her eyes roved over Danny's computations, eventually fading altogether to be replaced with a look of barely contained malice. Barousse's teeth clenched together, her eyes flashing with hate, and wild hope soared in Danny's chest as the teacher gradually stepped back.

"That is…correct, Mr. Fenton," she said, her voice so thick and tight that it emerged a harsh, rasping grate. "Now _sit back down._"

Danny kept his expression carefully neutral as he obeyed, but nevertheless he caught Barousse's eye as he resumed his spot in the back of the classroom.

The challenge Danny sent her was unspoken but completely understood.

_Bring it on, bitch._

A/N: HAHAHAHA! Looks like Barousse's plan backfired! But will Danny ever earn the acceptance of the world? Will Vlad's shadow never lift from his life? And what has become of Agent Brody? All this and more will be revealed, for in coming chapters we see that Danny has an implacable foe entrenched in the highest levels of the U.S. government! As always, PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have any ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^

On a more personal note, I will reiterate once more that I can make no guarantees over when the next update will be posted. Final exams are drawing near, and thus I'm afraid my writing time will be in short supply. I will also remind you all that I will be on vacation for near a month after school is out, so if I do not update between now and then, I humbly apologize and beseech you all for your patience and understanding.

And as for the mysterious enemy I mentioned above, I WILL say you guys have met him before in "Shatterglass." He was the one with "the face of a rat". (That's a direct quote from the description I gave of him, so if you guys wanna go back to "Shatterglass" and skim over it, you can figure out who he is! ^^)

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. In case any of you were wondering, the "Battle of Unnumbered Tears" took place when Morgoth utterly annihilated the host of Elves and Men who had laid siege to his great stronghold of Angband. (Mordor, in point of fact, was actually built in _imitation_ of Angband, but it was not nearly strong). Only three survived the slaughter, and Hurin was one of them.


	4. Chapter 4

Breaking Dawn

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_You still have friends. You are not alone in this fight."-Gandalf the White, "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" (2003)_

Chapter 4: Open Foes and Hidden Allies

Gym class, the final obstacle that had thrust itself between Danny Fenton and the sanctity of his home, was not the ghost boy's favorite cup of proverbial tea even on the best of days.

The battered, cavernous gymnasium, its once-varnished floors now scuffed and marred by countless skidding sneakers, had long been the undisputed domain of Dash Baxter and his cronies. The football, basketball and baseball stars that filled out the upper crust of the student hierarchy had ruled the gym with a collective iron fist, and many a teacher often failed to notice their brutal excesses in the course of the lesson. Dash and his cronies always tackled, shoved or pushed with more force than was necessary, and if the instructor was not willing to turn a blind eye to them, they veiled their regimen of physical intimidation in a cloak of false concern and meaningless, taunting apologies.

Danny's shoes made a sound reminiscent of a dog's squeaky toy as he headed for the boys' locker room with his regular clothes in tow, and he felt his eyes narrow slightly as he recalled, quite suddenly, just how many bad memories this enormous room held for him.

Danny had been altruistic enough to restrain himself from using his powers in the gym for quite some time. Though he was by far the strongest person in the entire school due to his enhanced physical prowess, Danny's conscience had not allowed him to use his ghostly abilities to improve his standing with the sports crowd. He didn't want to count Dash's friends among his own, and even if the acid of temptation had broken down his own moral code, Danny would have been wary of shattering the vulnerable and weak façade he'd crafted for himself. To show such stamina and strength so suddenly would have had people asking questions, and so Danny had happily put up with Dash's ceaseless torment for the sake of keeping his secret intact.

Not that any of these things mattered anymore. Danny's identity, that thing which he had gone to such lengths to conceal, had been cruelly exposed to the rest of the human race. The young man now had no reason or motivation to hold back during sports practice anymore, and to be honest, some rather petty and childish part of Danny had relished the stunned look on Dash's face when he had shown him what he could _really _do. Years of strenuous and almost-constant fighting had made Danny as healthy as a horse and honed his body into a weapon. Had he been wearing a more tight-fitting outfit than his gym clothes, one would have been able to clearly see Danny's musculature outlined beneath the fabric. But Danny, true to form, was a modest sort of fellow who felt uncomfortable with such overtly physical displays.

It was also Danny's rigid code of ethics that now restrained him from crushing Dash like a used soda can.

Thus, in summation, Danny had always hated gym class, but this particular class he had hated more than all the dozens that had come before it.

The reason was simple, really.

It was the _scars._

Danny did not want the world to see the scars of hate and malice that Vlad Plasmius had left upon him. The young man's cheeks burned with a fiery heat as he shoved the door open, and steam from running showers made the air inside hot and heavy as the ghost boy took a seat on a nearby bench. Danny had avoided this at the beginning of class by darting into a nearby restroom stall to change when the chance had presented itself, but no such salvation now presented itself to Danny's seeking eyes.

_As if I didn't need to give them _another _reason to stare at me, _Danny thought bitterly, taking the white shirt and jeans out of the small duffel bag he had slung over his shoulder. The young man's teeth clenched like a vise as he averted his gaze from everyone, and he prayed no one would take the time to notice as he began to shrug off his uniform-

"Holy crap!" somebody shouted. "Look at Fenton!"

Danny felt his cheeks heat up again while his stomach churned with nausea borne from his humiliation, and his fingers itched with temptation to pull his now-sweaty and stained gym shirt back on to hide his injuries. His face utterly blank and carefully devoid of any emotion, Danny turned to retrieve his denim trousers from his bag to the utter horror of all those assembled.

Even the most hardened of men would have turned their heads away at the horrific toll Danny's exile had taken upon him. Many of the long, ropy lines of scar tissue that had been slightly raised above Danny's flesh still bore the remnants of pocked, even stitch-marks, and like jagged thunderbolts they criss-cossed Danny's chest and upper back in a bile-inducing, grisly spectacle. Down Danny's upper arms and legs the evil-looking wounds extended, and with such enormous trauma it was a wonder that the ghost boy's face as yet remained unspoiled.

Danny looked for all the world like a representation of Frankenstein's monster, forever bearing the price he paid for his valor and heroism in the form of the wounds that had been etched into him with all the permanence of a chisel chipping into stone.

"Oh, my _God!"_

"What the _hell_?"

"How did _that _happen?"

"Is that a _bullet hole _in his shoulder, there?"

"No way!"

"He looks like he's been sewn back together!"

Danny spoke without turning around. "I'm still _here,_ you know."

The embarrassed silence that the young hero's unexpected utterance brought about was noticeably uncomfortable, and Danny's grin was bitterly amused as his raven-haired head emerged from beneath the collar of his shirt. His most recent indignity still rubbed against his heart like a cheese grater as he made haste for the door, but as Danny moved, Dash moved against him, blocking his way with his sheer bulk.

Danny phased right through him. Dash was the last person in the world he wanted to see right now.

"Fenton," Dash called after him, his tone conspicuously lacking its usual, jeering undercurrent.

Danny fought to control his exasperation, and his eyes threatened to flash a telltale green as his fists smoldered with ectoplasmic mist. Dash's petty bullying was one thing he did _not _need in the lamentable mess Vlad had made of his life. The enormous stress and worry that weighed heavily upon Danny's shoulders threatened to boil over like bubbling water as Dash's insistence stretched his temper dangerously thin.

"What do you want?" Danny asked finally, his voice weary after the colossal effort of smothering his anger.

"What…"Dash cleared his throat nervously, and Danny was mildly amused by the utterly thunderstruck expression on the football star's dim face. "What happened?"

"Fighting bad guys isn't as easy as it looks in the comics, Dash," the ghost boy replied dryly, poking gingerly at his still-tender shoulder. _Lancer is the only one who seems to realize that._

Mentally, Danny's mind flashed back to the book that now lay temporarily abandoned upon the bleachers, and the corners of his lips twitched as he remembered one particular passage:

_Thus while scarcely out of his boyhood Turin's strength and courage were proved, and he was ever forward in deeds of daring, and he received many wounds by spear or arrow or the crooked blades of Orcs._

Danny's expression split into a momentary grin, and he found himself relating to the fictional hero of Turin more and more with each turn of the page. Lancer, it seemed, had been extremely sage in the reading recommendation he had given his pupil, and the feel of the novel's weight in Danny's fingers was now somewhat and quite oddly comforting to him.

It was nice to have someone to sympathize with, after all, and Danny could not have cared less whether that someone existed in reality or only in the realm of the printed word.

The memory of that one passage, so poignant and reminiscent of Danny's own trials and heroism, served to bolster his faltering spirits. The ghost boy grunted with exertion as he hefted his obese book-bag off the ground, and the rubber soles of his sneakers bounced slightly as he made his way to the door, and to freedom.

The jarring screech of the final bell was, by far, the sweetest music Danny Fenton had ever heard.

Sam and Tucker were already waiting for him in the hallway as the floors became congested with herds of stampeding students, and Danny felt better just knowing that they, at least, would always be there for him. Danny's eyes softened in infatuation as he met Sam's eye, and Danny held her hand like a priceless treasure before leaning in to give her a gentle kiss.

Neither of them cared if anyone saw.

Tucker coughed politely into his fist, and Sam reluctantly pulled away as three old companions fell in step, her heavy boots _clomping_ audibly even above the enormous racket.

"How was it?" she asked quietly.

Danny simply stared at her.

"That bad, huh?" Tucker's gaze was sympathetic.

"Worse," Danny muttered, glancing meaningfully at his mended shoulder. "Apparently I've gone from 'renegade science experiment' to 'surgical dummy.'"

"The scars," Tucker nodded understandingly. "That would make anyone self-conscious, including me, Danny."

"Anyone but Sam, you mean," Danny replied, a mischievous grin on his face. "I don't think anyone can make _her _feel self-conscious."

"True," Sam's grin was sardonic, but there was no malice in it. "Lancer seemed okay with everything, though."

"Wish I could say the same for Barousse," Danny's tone turned bitter. "She could do the work of _two _Dashes! She was on me the minute I stepped into the classroom!"

"Oh, God," Tucker's eyes widened with consternation. "It figures someone like _Barousse _would come gunning for you. She's even mean to the other teachers!"

"It's a good thing I don't eat meat, otherwise that cold, hypercritical fish would be the catch of the day," Sam snarled, before she turned serious. "You should tell Lancer about it. He's the only person who's been at Casper High longer than Barousse, so he might have some friends in the administration who could call her off your back."

"She can't get away with this," Tucker added.

"No," Danny shook his head firmly. "If I tell, she'll know she's won. I won't give her that pleasure, Sam. I'm gonna beat her at her own game."

"How?" Tucker asked, confused.

Danny turned somewhat sheepish as his palm pressed against the door. "I'm still working on it."

"Where do you think you're going, _Mr. Fenton?"_

The shrill, belligerent and utterly unwelcome voice of none other than Claudia Barousse herself stopped Danny cold in his tracks not one foot away from the door. To come so _close_ to leaving the confines of this academic hellhole and then fall short was nothing short of cruel.

Barousse knew this. She'd actually timed it that way.

Danny turned around slowly, as if confronted by some dangerous animal, and he kept his tone carefully respectful before opening his mouth to speak-

"Be silent," Barousse snapped at him, her tone icy and her gaze disdainful. The teacher looked down the bridge of her beak-like nose at Danny as though he were something disgusting on the bottom of her shoe. "You have nothing to contribute."

Tucker discreetly tugged Sam a safe distance away as the Goth began to go positively rabid, and Danny, burning at the insult, nonetheless complied, to Barousse's obvious satisfaction.

"Now, as I was saying, I hope you aren't foolish enough to believe that you are dismissed from class," she continued, her tone sweet like poisoned honey.

"The bell rang!" Danny couldn't help but raise his tone at Barousse's proclamation,

"For _normal_ students, yes," the teacher nodded. "_You _however, are not entitled to such privileges, and you have a detention to serve out, anyway."

"You never gave me a detention."

"I just did," Barousse's eyes glittered. "And I believe there's a mop and a pail over there with your name on it, Fenton. Scrub this place from top to bottom, and heaven help you if I come back and it's not done!"

"Go choke on your pantyhose, you crabby old sow."

A third voice, deep and gravelly and most certainly not Danny's caused the teacher to whirl around like a vampire caught in the sun's rays. Her expression indignant, Barousse tried to maintain an air of authority at the rather large man who had suddenly materialized behind her.

"Who are you? I'll have you brought up on trespassing charges, do you hear me? Leave the premises at once!"

A coffee cup sloshed in the ominous newcomer's left hand as his meaty fingers delved into his pocket. "See this?" he asked, waving a golden emblem in her face. "This is a 'do-whatever-I-want-and-get-away with-it' badge. Get the point?"

"I don't know who you think you are, but this does not concern you," Barousse hissed. "As you can see, I'm having a word with my student ."

"Just having a word with him, huh?" the man snorted derisively. "Right. And Larry King's the nephew of Justin Bieber."

Tucker snorted with barely-contained merriment, and the stranger glowered darkly at the somewhat-deflated Barousse.

"Get outta here," he spat.

Barousse merely glared at him.

"You got three seconds."

Still, she did not budge.

"I have a taser."

Barousse's feet seemed to grow wings as she fled back to the safety of her classroom.

"Damn," Agent Thomas Brody remarked, draining the last of his Java bean. "Known her less than five minutes, and I already hate her. How you been, Danny?"

The ghost boy, while obviously glad to see the venerable agent, was somewhat confused. "I thought you retired."

"I did," Brody snorted. "Briefly."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

Brody sighed and turned to the ghost boy. "You got no idea what the climate in Washington is like right now, kid. Your exposure was like kicking over a red anthill; everyone's up in a tizzy about whether to give you medal or strap you down for dissection, and from what I hear, the dissection vote is starting to gain weight. Congress is split almost clean down the middle about you. That's why I requested re-instatement in the Bureau, Danny. I wanted a job keeping an eye on you, and my boss was hardly able to turn me down after nearly thirty years working at the FBI. I've been keeping up with what's happened after that debacle in France, and I think you can use all the help you can get till folks come to their senses.

"You're in danger, kid," Brody added, his eyes turning cold. "There are a lot of wackos out there putting all sorts of creepy sites about you. Religious nutjobs claim you're the Antichrist, anarchists want to use you as a weapon, and hate groups like the KKK and the neo-Nazis want to lynch you. _Then _there's assholes like the GIW and even some of the Joint Chiefs who still think you're a threat to national security, and politicians who want to use your incarceration as a ticket to the White House. I wouldn't put it past any of them to try taking a shot at you, _literally_, and enough of my friends at FBI agreed with me to send me down here."

"You've got Skryme to thank for your troubles with the U.S. government," Brody added contemptuously. "I had him dishonorably discharged after the charges against you were cleared, and he's been whispering and lying about you in the ears of power ever since. He's taken it upon himself to wage a political vendetta against you, and he wields enough political clout to be a serious problem. I even suspect Skryme might be funding some of these groups through his office, but I can't prove anything yet. _He_ is the biggest concern; Skyrme's so unbelievably _petty _that he just _might_ pull a gun on you."

Danny's mind flashed back to the rat-faced, arrogant Army officer who had been with Brody during the agent's manhunt, and old anger simmered again as he recalled how Skryme had advocated his death even after Danny had nearly died in the fight with Vlad.

"So you think he'll try?" The ghost boy's voice was noticeably calm for one who had just received such grave news.

"I don't know," Brody sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Skyrme is unpredictable, and _that _worries me most of all…"

A/N: Well, that doesn't look too good! But Brody PWNED Barousse! XD And there's much more I have planned, but again I make no promises as to when the next update will be up. It was actually an effort to find enough time to type _this _update, but nevertheless I shall endeavor to have the next chapter up as soon as humanly possible. And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	5. Chapter 5

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_What can men do against such reckless hate?"-King Theoden of Rohan, "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" (2002)_

Chapter 5: The Return of Major Andrew Skryme

Danny Fenton felt slightly less vulnerable as Agent Thomas Brody escorted the ghost boy and his friends and sister outside into warm afternoon. The smell of spent diesel fuel burned in Danny's nostrils as Brody walked beside him, his trenchcoat billowing about him in an almost theatrical manner, and as the asphalt grated under his sneakers the young hero's brain began to buzz with all that Brody had told him.

Inwardly, Danny was kicking himself. He should have realized that someone like Major Skryme would not give up so easily; the hero should have anticipated some sort of vendetta against him and prepared himself accordingly. But with the elation of coming home and the happiness of his new relationship with Sam, all thoughts of the rat-faced Major had dissipated like smoke on a windy day.

Danny clenched his fist so hard that his knuckles turned pale. He already had enough problems to deal with, and the new threat of Skryme hanging over him like a thundercloud of malice and ill intent was something that the young hero did _not _need. The ex-Major was only throwing gasoline on the fire that Vlad had created, and Danny's breath left his nostrils in a sigh as Brody gestured him to a nondescript, gray Volvo.

"I'll drive," the agent said, arching an eyebrow good-naturedly. "Unless they're giving out licenses at fourteen."

"I wish," Tucker said dreamily "Imagine all the girls I could pick up in a red Camaro!"

"When I was your age I woulda been happy if my first car had had a full set of wheels and a working engine," Brody retorted, clicking a button on his keyring as the vehicle's headlight flashed.

The agent went to open the door, but the fact that Danny's face had suddenly broken into a white-ish pallor instantly caught his eye. "What is it?"

"Reporters," Danny groaned, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"Those vultures," Sam snorted, her gaze resting scornfully on the pack of microphone and camera-toting men and women darting across the parking lot. "Don't they have anything better to do?"

"Doesn't matter," Brody growled. "Get in!"

Danny needed no second encouragement, and he shut the door just in time to turn his head away from the blinding flashes of dozens of cameras. Like jackals on a fresh carcass, the scourge of the media swamped Brody's vehicle in a vain attempt to gain some kind of exclusive scoop, but Brody merely scowled and rolled up the windows. Their muted cries, though made unintelligible through through the thick, bulletproof glass that the agent had personally installed, could nonetheless be heard as a mighty, collective drone not unlike that of a massive bee.

"Looks like that press conference the other day worked really well," Jazz commented sarcastically as the Volvo pulled away.

"The dark side of fame, kid," Brody's grin was humorless. "You'll grow used to it eventually."

"I hope so," Danny nodded fervently before his face fell. "Are they gonna be there every day when I get out of school?"

"Probably," Brody admitted. "The trick is to outwit them. I've already booked a different rental car for tomorrow, and I'll pick you guys up in the back parking lot rather than in front."

"Are you sure you don't mind doing all this?" Danny felt somewhat uncomfortable, as though he were imposing on the grizzled cop. "I mean, I don't want to be a burden or anything."

"I wouldn't trust anyone else but me with your safety," Brody replied. "But even if I did, it's not as if I have anything better to do; I was starting to grow restless after a few weeks up in the Rockies. Sure, the fresh air and scenery is great for a while, but after a few weeks of nothing but clouds and trees began to miss the city. So when I turned on the TV and saw you giving that interview the other day, I knew it was only a matter of time before the piss hit the fan."

"And when it did, the fan broke," Danny muttered.

Brody's normally hard face was gentle. "That bad, huh?"

"No," Danny shook his head. "It was worse."

"It'll get better eventually," the agent tried to be reassuring as he deftly turned onto the Fentons' street. "We just need to bide our time until things settle down a little."

"Not if Skryme has anything to say about it," Sam put in. "From what you've said, he seems to be turning into a problem."

"Skryme is nothing more than an arrogant bastard who got knocked off his high horse," Brody said firmly. "_I'll_ deal with _him;_ you kids have enough to worry about already."

The comfortingly familiar neon sign of Fentonworks hove into view, and Danny instantly felt just a little bit safer at the sight of the sanctuary that was his home. Choking exhaust sputtered out of the gray sedan's tailpipe as Brody swiftly removed the key from the ignition, and the agent grunted slightly as the act of getting out of his seat irritated his continuously aching back.

"You ok?" Danny glanced at him, concerned, at the way Brody squinched his eyes shut.

"Get to a certain age, and old battle wounds start to take their toll," Brody replied gruffly, straightening with a groan. "_God_, I hate getting old…"

"You're not old," Tucker said teasingly as he rapped on the Fentons' door. "You're just vintage."

Brody's hand clutched the taser on his belt, and Danny was almost convinced that the agent was about to use it when his mother, Maddie Fenton, opened the door.

Mrs. Fenton's standard maternal meeting of "How was your day?" was interrupted when her eyes alighted on Agent Brody. "I remember you," she said thoughtfully, before her tone turned to outrage. "You're the one who tried to arrest Danny! What has he supposedly done _now?_"

"Uh, yeah," Brody rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "I _do _feel bad about that…"

"He's on our side, Mom," Danny said quickly, before dropping his voice to a whisper. "Remember, he cleared up the whole mess with Vlad after…"

Maddie's face creased in understanding, and Danny's eyes darkened as he realized he could not force himself to complete his utterance. Danny's mother then recalled the lengths to which Brody had gone to conceal the foul deed Vlad's manipulations had forced her son to commit, and she blushed with embarrassment whilst making a point of holding the door open. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely to him. "Please, come in."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Brody assured her, nodding amicably.

"Can I get you anything? Perhaps a cup of coffee?" Maddie asked, slipping effortlessly into the role of gracious hostess.

Brody, being a notorious coffee addict, was loath to turn down her offer. "Black, if you have it," he said.

"Might I ask what brings you to Amity?" Maddie added, disappearing into the kitchen as Danny and his companions followed her inside.

"I've been assigned to ensure Danny's safety until things cool down a bit," Brody tried to keep his tone casual so as not to worry the ghost boy's mother with tales of religious zealots and racist bigots who cried for Danny's blood.

"Will you be staying here with us?" Danny asked, understandably curious.

"I have a motel room booked a few blocks away," Brody shook his head. "I don't want to impose, kid; Lord knows I've already caused you and your parents enough trouble already. And in any case, I'm an early riser; chances are I'll be up and at 'em by the time you roll out of bed. I'll meet you outside before and after school, and I'll be close by in civilian clothes if you and your friends go out in public. Just make sure to give me some notice beforehand," he added. "I'm many things, kid, but not a mind-reader."

"And you're sure all of this is necessary?" Jack Fenton asked, suddenly appearing by Maddie's side, his normally jovial expression replaced with a fretful frown.

"I'm positive, my boss is positive, and my _boss's_ boss is positive," Brody snorted. "Your boy has as many friends in Washington as he does enemies…for now, at least."

"What do you mean?" Jack inquired.

Danny took that opportunity to speak up. "You guys remember Andrew Skryme? The rat-faced Army guy with buck teeth? Brody got him fired after what he tried to do to me, but now he's been given a job in D.C. and he's determined to try to mess with me. Brody says that Skryme might be behind a lot of the creepy websites and stuff that have popped up recently."

"I remember him," Maddie growled. "That awful little man!"

"What are you going to do?" Jack asked Brody.

"Nothing, at least for the moment," Brody sighed. "Until I get something on him that I can use, _and I will,_ all we can do now is weather the storm as best we can. It'll all blow over, given time; sooner or later, everyone will lose interest and Skryme's lies won't mean anything. But before all of that happens, it's my job to keep your boy safe from any of the wackos that might come out of the woodwork."

"So Danny's in danger?"

"Better safe than sorry, ma'am," Brody replied diplomatically. "And the risk is doubled, now that everyone knows where he lives. In fact, I think I _will _stay here, just for tonight," he concluded after a moment's thought. "If that's okay with you and your husband, of course."

"We don't have any spare beds," Danny admitted.

Brody grinned wryly.

"Who said I was planning on _sleeping?"_

_Epilogue_

_Washington, D.C., that evening…_

_The obscenely expensive ballpoint made soft scratching sounds as its delicately tapering point left line after line of untidy scrawl upon the crisp, clean sheet of paper. Its dark, wet ink shone dully in the dim glow of the desk lamp that stood by the writer's elbow, and sparse illumination cast by the cheap accessory was just enough to reveal the hate-laden features of the rat-faced Andrew Skryme._

_The rat-faced villain took a moment to take a surreptitious swig from the flask that he had concealed within the folds of his expensive suit. The strong alcohol burned Skryme's throat as he choked it down, and he blinked his eyes blearily as he glanced at the clock._

_Skryme cursed, realizing how late it was, and he gazed angrily at the enormous mountains of paperwork that still needed to be filled out before he could catch a few hours' sparse rest in his dingy bed. He damned Fenton and all his delinquent friends to the innermost circle of Hell, and Skryme's shifty, beady, watery eyes narrowed with unrivaled malice._

_It was all Fenton's fault, his and Brody's, that he found himself working the night shift at an obscure desk job in some government facility. The hunt for Fenton a month prior had utterly destroyed Skryme's military career, largely due to a stinging report Brody had filed with the ex-Major's commanding officer. In it, Brody had detailed Skryme's sadism and his insistence that Fenton be tortured and executed without a trial, and consequently the villain had been summarily and dishonorably discharged after his superiors had finished screaming at him. Skryme's insistence on such barbaric methods, they'd said, had come close to causing an embarrassing scandal, and it was only by Fenton's inherent and forgiving nature that the boy's family had not hauled the entire U.S. army to court. The Army brass had even gone one step further, stripping Skryme of his rank in front of the Joint Chiefs themselves and publicly humiliating him so as to warn others not to repeat his mistake. The entire ordeal had cost the villain his commission, his credibility, and his job, and thus it was that the embittered Skryme fought to keep himself from throwing his desk clear out the window in a furious rage._

_He hated Danny Fenton and the coffee-swilling idiot Brody as he had never hated anyone else. The two of them had utterly destroyed the illustrious military career Skryme had worked to build, and now, even in his lowly position, his black heart yearned for vengeance and retribution._

_It had been a mistake, largely due to an overestimation of Skryme's character, that he had been hired by Representative someone-or-other to oversee his campaign funds for the coming re-election. The fact that Skryme's shift began when the entire office was otherwise empty made the atmosphere even more conducive to larceny, and thus Skryme had decided, from time to time, to "relocate" federal tax dollars to fund his private war on Danny Fenton. Through a series of obscure bank accounts and encrypted passwords, Skryme had slowly and steadily added a continuous trickle of cash to his own growing wealth, and he had already begun to use his embezzled greenbacks to further his nefarious ends._

_Skryme, albeit unknowingly, was going to finish what Vlad Plasmius started. _

_He was going to utterly ruin Danny Fenton._

_The secret campaign had begun slowly, just after Fenton had arrived back in the United States. A few phone calls and several hefty anonymous donations had enabled Skryme to help elevate legislators who shared his bigotry into seats on Capitol Hill. When he was not confined to his desk, Skryme had made great efforts to ingratiate himself to these men and women, and through them he had started to whisper dark and dangerous lies into the ears of the government. So Machiavellian was Skryme's plot that even Cardinal Richelieu would have nodded in approval._

_But Skryme did not stop there._

_Through his network of spies and paid or bullied informants, Skryme had made contact with a number of fanatical religious groups who had denounced Fenton as the fruit of Lucifer's loins. Several of these radical churches had coffers large enough to support election campaigns of representatives that Skryme had also backed, and through his machinations these dangerous fringe groups now wielded considerable political clout. Skryme had even secretly launched a number of Web pages devoted to convincing the public of Danny's "evil" nature; several of them had already racked up over a million hits and garnered hundreds of subscribers._

_One by one, the dominoes of Danny Fenton's downfall were being set up, and all it would take would be a simple push to send the full brunt of Skryme's malice crashing down upon the boy._

_Skryme paused, his hand stopping in mid-reach as he went to bury himself among the mounds of paper once more. A sadistic grin slowly stretched across his face, and the embittered ex-soldier chuckled quietly under his breath._

_The thought of revenge always gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling…_

A/N: Okay, so before any of you ask, I want to put the record straight: Sadly, my return to the realm of fanfiction on this occasion was merely the product of good timing and favorable circumstances. It turned out that I had a brief moment of peace in the middle of my hectic travel itinerary, and seeing as how you've all been waiting so patiently, I thought I may as well make use of the time that was given to me. ^^ This story_ is _still on hiatus, though, so I'm afraid you all should not expect another update in the near future. I say this not to disappoint you all, but only to be truthful; even now, as I glance at my proverbial "to-do" list, I cannot accurately predict when such a run of good luck might present itself to me. I ask you all once more for your forgiveness and understanding, and I send each and every one of you my thanks and undying gratitude for waiting for me so patiently and being so understanding.

I am, and shall ever remain,

Your humble servant,

Quill N. Inque

P.S. To all those who wished me good fortune on my journey, I want to say that, so far, it is going _spectacularly_. This morning we went whale-watching, and tomorrow we are to explore the wonders of Vancouver's Chinatown (the third largest of its kind in North America!). Father is also planning on taking me to a sort of Renaissance Faire, and even after that I look forward to white-water rafting and kayaking in the Canadian wilderness. ^^

P.S.S. I've been trying to find this one DP fanfic for sometime, but so far I've had no success. I can't remember either the title or the author's name, but from what I do recall, I believe it involves Vlad pushing Danny through the locker room wall and thereby putting his secret in jeopardy. Can anyone help me find it? A special exclusive sneak peek at coming chapters will go to the first person who can answer my query! ^^


	6. Chapter 6

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_Hate is not born. It is taught."-Confucius_

Chapter 6: Fentonworks Besieged!

_Prologue_

_Amity Park, two hours ago…_

_The shadows were lengthening with the approach of the impending twilight, and the concrete sidewalk underfoot made a sharp, clip-clopping sound underneath the pointy-heeled shoes in which the feet of a severe, sour-faced woman were clad. Her cold eyes, pursed lips, hooked nose and permanent grimace gave her an air of unmistakable unpleasantness, and the dour, drab-colored suit and business skirt she wore only added to the frosty aura she carried about her person._

_Fallen leaves swirled in the freshening wind, dancing around the ankles of Claudia Barousse as they whistled and scraped in the breeze. Like a miniature dust devil the loose arboreal detritus whirled like a frenzied dervish, and the aspen trees that had been planted in regular intervals along the pavement bent like saplings as the gale grew stronger._

_Danny's teacher and self-appointed tormentor turned the collar of her jacket upwards in a vain attempt to ward off a chill, and her face puckered even further in disapproval of the sudden change in weather. Her hair, the color of steel wool, threatened to burst from its tightly wound bun, and Barousse hurriedly closed the distance between herself and her secret destination. As best as her arthritic knees allowed, the old crone dashed across the cement walkway, her ridiculous shoes clicking and clacking all the while._

_Slightly out of breath, her sunken cheeks flushed with exertion, Barousse came to a screeching halt in front of a deceptively innocuous-looking structure. It was nothing special, as buildings go, built of red brick with a chain-link fence around its lawn. The roof was of clay shingles, the windows tightly locked, and the shutters firmly closed and latched into place. A dim glow could be seen emanating from underneath the door, and Barousse took a moment to check her reflection in a handheld mirror before snapping it shut and pressing a button on the intercom._

"_Password?" a voice, made tinny by old wiring, could just barely be heard over the crackling static._

"_Iggy sent me," Barousse replied in a bored tone._

_There followed a series of clicks as a variety of locks were removed, and the insufficient glow of a single lamp bathed Barousse's cold face as a man ushered her inside._

"_You're just in time," he said kindly, looking for all the world like a man going to church rather than an attendee at a clandestine gathering. "The weekly Gathering is about to begin."_

"_How many more have been Enlightened?" Barousse asked, her words hushed with reverence._

"_Some dozens. More come every day," the man replied, his eyes sparkling with a disturbing zealotry. "Our ranks grow with those who wish to support the Cause and spread the Truth."_

_Barousse's face looked like it might crack as it split into a rare smile, and she and her companion hurried down a short flight of steps whilst the far-off murmurs of myriad voices grew into a loud drone as the spiraling stairway took them down into the building's basement. The air was thick, stale, muggy and sullen, but this did nothing to dissipate the reverent, almost religious atmosphere that pervaded this gathering. Dozens of people, both old and young, were already present here, milling about like aimless sheep before a large podium and antiquated film projector. Nearby was a table, stacked with what this group euphemistically called "information pamphlets, and some of the attendees held their copies close like a religious artifact as the muted conversation settled into silence._

_A man with a toothbrush moustache, dressed in a black suit and tie, stepped up to the microphone to open the proceedings._

"_Good evening, everyone," he began, smiling reassuringly. "And might I say that it is enormously gratifying to see that so many of you have come to see past the lies and deceit that the media has been shoving down the throats of honest citizens of late. We who have gathered here know the Truth, know better than to be fooled by the ravings of government toadies and impure abominations. Together, we can spread our Message far and wide, and avert the catastrophe that will surely ensue if the Dark One is allowed to roam among us!"_

"_Amen!" a hundred voices roared back._

"_We here commit to this worthy ideal, and for the good of all humanity, we declare ourselves the champions of mankind, the Society of Light! Only through our efforts can this new evil be vanquished…__by any means necessary!"_

_The cheers grew louder as a knife appeared in the speaker's hand, and he pinned a slightly fuzzy photograph to an adjacent wall with far more force than was necessary. The blade's hilt protruded from the plaster as the metal was driven deep, and the joyous shouts turned to threats and bloodthirsty cries as Danny Fenton, a digitally enhanced scowl on his face, stared out from the Polaroid film that had capture his likeness. _

"_We can no longer rely on the police or the moneygrubbing bureaucrats who sit upon the once-proud seat of American justice! They are naïve, deceived and blinded by the ghost child's malevolent influence! The media hails him as a hero, calling him a savior when one such as he is only able to destroy! His fell powers and eldritch abilities pose a threat not only to us, but to the entirety of the human race, and if action is not taken, the Dark Child will run rampant through our homes! He will snatch away our children, lay our cities to waste, and drive us away like frightened cattle! __Will we allow it?__"_

"_NO!__" a hundred voices shouted back._

"_Then for our children, for our wives and husbands, I call upon the Society to take matters into our own hands! We will drive the Fenton child from Amity, and we will not stop until his true motives are made clear! We will not stop until he is reviled for the unholy abomination he is and cast out from man, and only when this has been accomplished will our glorious crusade come to an end!"_

_Furious roars made the building's very foundations tremble, and, as one, the Society members pumped their clenched fists into the air._

"_He's gotta be stopped!"_

"_If they won't do something about it, we will!"_

"_Son of the Devil!"_

"_Spawn of Darkness!"_

"_We must reveal the truth!"_

_A colorful assortment of Halloween masks and makeshift weapons such as pipes and wrenches were pressed into grasping fingers, and as she donned an elaborate disguise of Mardi Gras feathers, a dreamy, idealistic look suffused Claudia Barousse's stern features; such a devoted expression seemed highly unsuited for her hawkish, horse-shaped face. A slow smile stretched her thin, pale lips, revealing Barousse's tombstone-shaped teeth, and her eyes glittered with hate that was reinforced with utterly religious conviction…_

_Now…_

The rapidly fading glow of the setting sun painted the sky with splashes of deep crimson and blazing scarlet until it seemed as though the clouds had been soaked with blood, and the shafts of red light that seeped through the window of Maddie and Jack Fenton's bedroom cast an almost unearthly pallor upon the Fenton household.

The door creaked open, and Maddie Fenton, garbed in a loose robe, looked up from the sink where she had been removing her contact lenses. Her flaming red hair was slightly askew, and her worried expression was reflected in the mirror as she looked up at her husband, Jack.

The Fenton patriarch seemed even wearier than his wife. Jack's hair, already streaked with silver, seemed to be turning just a little grayer around the edges as the past few days' ordeal began to take its toll. His signature orange jumpsuit had been replaced by an old-fashioned nightie and stocking cap, and Jack's large feet were clad in a pair of ridiculous-looking bunny slippers.

"How is he?" Maddie asked softly, wiping her lipstick away on a nearby washrag.

"Fast asleep, thank goodness," Jack murmured. "I was starting to worry that our boy would never be able to get some shuteye, what with everything that's happened."

"Danny's under a lot more pressure than he's letting on," Maddie agreed sadly before anguish turned to despair. "Oh, Jack, what are we going to do? I thought…after Vlad…we could pick up and move on…"

Jack's wife buried her face in his sleeve and began sobbing, and her husband's face creased with sympathy for Maddie and worry for his son. "It'll be all right, you'll see," Jack murmured. "Just give it time."

"How can we send Danny back out there?" Maddie moaned. "What kind of parents are we, to throw Danny back into the lion's den day after day?"

"He'll have to deal with it sooner or later," Jack reminded her. "And we can't keep him locked up in Fentonworks forever. You know how Danny is; he's never been one to put something off when he'd just as soon get it over with."

"I wish things were back to the way they were," Maddie sniffed. "I wish none of this had ever happened! Danny never deserved any of it!"

"No, he didn't," Jack said quietly. "But there's no way we can undo what Vlad did to our son, to our family. All we can hope to do for Danny is to be there for him if and when he needs us. You and I, Jazz, Tucker and Sam will all be by Danny's side when things get rough, and if he falls, all of us will be there to help him get back on his feet."

Jack drew his arms around her, patting her head gently. "It'll work out in the end."

A sound made Maddie tilt her head upwards, and her eyes became small and frightened as she realized what the source of the noise had to have been.

It was the unmistakable cacophony of breaking glass.

"Jack…did you hear that?"

_Meanwhile…_

In the Fentons' guest bedroom, Agent Thomas Brody's eyes flashed open as his keen ears, honed by decades of law enforcement, picked up the sound of a window that shattered under the impact of some unknown projectile. The venerable cop's soldier sense buzzed inside his skull like a nest of hornets, and he was instantaneously awake as his fingers clutched the battered Sig Sauer which lay by his bedside. In one fluid movement, Brody had loaded and cocked the weapon's hammer back before his bare feet had even hit the floor. Clad only in a non-sleeve T-shirt and pinstripe boxers, Brody padded silently down the hall like a panther and thrust open the door to Danny Fenton's room. The ghost boy, sound asleep across the hall, gave a startled gasp as the shadow of Brody loomed over him, and the agent pressed a finger to his lips for quiet before gesturing for Danny to follow him.

"What's going on?" Danny mouthed silently.

Brody shook his head, shrugging ambiguously. Apparently he did not have time to waste on full sentences. A nod in the direction of Jazz's room was all the encouragement Danny needed to silently rouse his sister, and seconds later an irate Jazz stormed from her bedroom in a set of teddy-bear pattern pajamas.

"Do you have any idea what time it-oomph!"

Jazz's eyes widened as Brody's meaty fingers clapped across her mouth, stifling any further protest, and the agent spoke while barely moving his lips.

"Quiet, Missy. I thought I heard something," Brody murmured. "Danny, I need you to take your sister and parents to safety, _quietly. _The downstairs lab should do as a safehouse for now."

"What do you think is happening?" Jazz's voice was small.

"No telling," Brody growled. "But I've got a gut feeling that says that something ain't right. Now go!" he added harshly, giving Danny a shove for emphasis. "Rendezvous with me in the kitchen once you're _sure _everyone else is out of harm's way. If there are hooligans out and about, we'll make sure to send them packing."

Danny's normally cheerful face was now as serious as the scars on his body, his mouth firmly set in a grim slash as he phased through the floor with Jazz in tow…

_At the same time…_

The street lamps had only just begun bathing the concrete in their harsh illumination as a second vandal, clad in the façade of a gorilla mask, prepared to heave a second rock through the Fenton family's now-ruined front window. A web-like series of cracks emanated from the gaping hole in the once-flawless glass, and what remained of the savaged window was completely destroyed under the impact of the assailant's hurling projectile. The remorseless piece of granite sent dagger-like shards of shrapnel scattering onto the floor as it demolished everything in its path, and from within Fentonworks could be heard a terrified sob as Danny's mother, Maddie, almost gave in to her terror.

The sound of her distress only deepened Danny's resolve as he deftly and swiftly changed into his ghostly-alter ego amidst a blinding flash of light, and he turned his body intangible just in time to avoid the spray of shattered window pieces that would otherwise have lodge painfully in his flesh. Danny winced automatically as the deadly rain whizzed through his body, but fear turned to outrage as he beheld the damage to his home. Rage and righteous fury made his blood seethe, and it was only with the utmost self-control that he kept himself from bellowing a challenge at the unseen assailants.

Fighting would come later, he knew. Danny's priority at this moment in time was to ensure the well-being of his loved ones.

Maddie gave a mouse-like squeak as the door to her bedroom swung open, but fear turned to relief as Danny gathered his mother and father into his arms.

"What on Earth is happening out there?" she asked.

"You're better off not knowing, at least for now," Danny replied grimly. "You guys and Jazz have to go downstairs to the laboratory, okay? You'll be safe there."

"Where's Brody?"

"Upstairs, last I saw," Danny murmured, turning his parents and sister intangible and sinking promptly into the floor. "He woke me up 'cause he thought something was up, and now I agree."

"So that noise…" Jack paled as the realization of his peril dawned upon him.

"Yeah, that was our window being broken," Danny replied.

"What do they want?" Jazz asked. "Why attack us? We haven't _done _anything!"

"I don't think it's _you_ they're after," Danny whispered, before the tile swallowed him up.

Agent Brody, watching unseen from the adjoining hallway, breathed a short sigh of relief as he watched the Fenton family descend to safety. The safety of his sidearm made an ominous _click _as he switched it off, and the crackling taser he grasped in his adjoining hand doubled the threat Brody posed to any intruder who might be foolish enough to enter Fentonworks unwanted. Thus armed, Brody moved with all the quiet stealth of a trained assassin, his grip light but firm, and he chanced a peek over the living from couch to assess the gravity of this unexpected threat.

Brody immediately regretted this decision, as he only just avoided having a brick collide with his skull by ducking back below the cushions. The risk, however, had been worth it; he now knew, even after such a brief glimpse, how many assailants had gathered on Fentonworks. Normally, this would not be even remotely possible, but after more than twenty years working for the FBI, one tends to pick up a few proverbial tricks.

Brody's veteran ears suddenly noticed something, or, to be more specific, he noticed something that was not there to be noted in the first place. If this was indeed an ordinary, run-of-the-mill angry mob, one would normally expect to hear _noise._ Shouts of derision, jeers or cries would by now have reached deafening levels, but rather than the usual cacophony to which he'd been accustomed, Brody heard…_nothing._ The only sound to denote the presence of the attackers was the shaking of foliage as they trampled Maddie Fenton's flower patch, the soft rustle of clothing against skin, but other than these no other sound could be picked up by the venerable agent.

_That _made this whole mess all the more disturbing. The lack of noise or communication was evidence that this was not a random assault, as Brody had first believed, but rather a carefully coordinated, well-planned strike against the Fentons' home. Whoever these people happened to be, they were obviously not a disorganized rabble.

This raised even more questions as Brody's brain began to churn. Who the hell _were _these people? Were they working alone, with others, or on behalf of someone else? What were their motivations? How had they been able to slip under his radar? And were they indeed after Danny, or someone else?

Brody's fingers tightened on the stock of his Sig, and he took a split second to summon his courage. _No brick-throwing hooligan is gonna scare Thomas Benjamin Brody, _he thought fiercely. _I've taken down tougher guys than this on my __worst __of days!_

Something bumped Brody's elbow, and his aim automatically swiveled to face the perceived threat as the cold metal barrel pressed against Danny Fenton's forehead. The teen's raven hair was still slightly askew with "bed-head," but Danny's eyes were clear and focused as he directed a questioning glance at his friend.

Brody shrugged by way of apology, not daring to speak lest he give away Danny's presence. The ghost boy seemed to understand this despite the lack of verbal communication, and a nod from the agent was all Danny needed before the two burst from behind the cover of the now-ruined sofa. Danny's palms glowed with green energy, and Brody's weapon stared balefully down at the shadows that moved in night-

-But the two heroes' charge turned into a rule as a glass bottle sailed through the ruin that had once been the Fenton's living room. Admittedly this object was relatively benign all by itself, but when stuffed with combustibles and when using a gasoline soaked rag as a makeshift fuse, the once-innocent soda product was transformed from a household object into a crude yet effective weapon. Popularly known as a Molotov cocktail, the makeshift bomb would explode and set fire to anything in the immediate vicinity once the mixture of gasoline and oil ignited, and white-hot pieces of molten glass would melt flesh right off the bones of any who came to close. The fire that the ignition was meant to create tended to burn ferociously, even when doused with water, and Brody's eyes widened with shock and horrified recognition as he realized exactly what was being tossed his way.

"Oh-"

What would have come after the "Oh" was anyone's guess, but knowing Brody it probably would have been censored anyway. It was only by the grace of Brody's lightning reflexes that he was able to avoid having his head melted right off his shoulders, and Danny, being an astute young man, promptly followed suit and ducked back behind the now-shredded cushions as the spinning bottle, trailing smoke and flame, landed amidst the clutter of the Fenton's kitchen. It was only a matter of seconds before the homemade bomb ignited, and Danny aimed to blast the blazing projectile out of existence-

-Only to have his young face suffuse with utter horror as the Molotov cocktail ignited with an earsplitting _pop_ and a burst of searing heat. Flickering tongues of orange and red fire were sprayed in every direction whilst the air became thick with smoke, and through his watering, bleary eyes, Brody took aim and fired at the fleeing intruders. Whether any of the shots found their mark was very much in doubt, but the act of shooting at somebody usually made Brody feel better in such situations.

Danny coughed raggedly, his own eyes streaming as he held a hand in front of his face to ward off the flames, and his gaze was already red-rimmed from the sulfurous smoke as he pointed in the escapees' direction.

"They're getting away!" he cried.

"Forget about them, kid!" Brody snarled, his voice hoarse and rough from breathing in the choking gas. "We can always go after them another day, but there won't _be _another day if you don't help me put this out before the whole house burns down! You got a fire extinguisher around here?"

"Don't need it," Danny grunted, his lungs beginning to burn. "I can suck the moisture from the air to fuel my ice powers."

"There _is _no moisture in the air!" Brody hissed.

"Shut up and let me concentrate, will you?" Danny asked him, his normally cheery tone replaced by uncharacteristic gruffness due to the urgency of the situation. Brody fell immediately silent as the ghost child reached for the globe of numbingly cold energy that lay within his chest, and Danny's eyes turned a chilling blue as the room temperature became noticeably lower. Whatever water vapor remained within a six-foot radius of Danny Fenton was immediately sucked through his pores as if in a vacuum, and his breath was exhaled in an icy cloud whilst his lips turned the color of frozen raspberries. Like a raging river blocked by a dam, the power within Danny's body grew exponentially until every fiber of his being was filled to the brim with raw, unfettered and freezing _power. _Though he would never admit it, it was enormously relieving to Danny to be able to let loose like this, albeit in such a way that no one would be hurt. After observing self-restraint and control for so long, some lesser part of Danny reveled in the simple act of lashing out with all his might at whatever got in his way. To feel every cell in his body humming with the force of his might made Danny feel _alive _as he had never felt before. To _feel _such power was utterly intoxicating, almost like being raised to the power of infinity. That he wielded such force made Danny feel as though nothing could stand against him, and the imminent unleashing of the full brunt of his fury was an act that seemed oddly freeing in its primeval simplicity.

"Almost…there…" Danny grunted, his face contorting as he neared his breaking point.

Brody was smart enough to know that Danny couldn't hold on to such a buildup of ghostly energy for long, and when ice began to settle on the hem of his T-shirt, he had the good sense to shield his eyes and face only seconds before an electric blue shockwave of freezing cold issued forth from Danny's entire body. Rays of chilling light, so cold that it _burned _like dry ice, made Brody squinch his eyelids shut as the icy wind howled like a shrieking banshee. The furious flames that had seemed so invincible only moments before were extinguished with a great, collective hiss as icicles and webs of feathery-looking frost formed on any surface unfortunate enough to be exposed. Brody felt his teeth begin to chatter like castanets as his knees began to quake, and flakes of ice gave his black-colored, unshaven stubble a salt-and-pepper appearance. Tiny formations of ice even formed on Brody's eyelashes, snapping off audibly when he tried to blink, and only when Brody's sight cleared and his disorientation from the freezing blast subsided did he realize that Fenton, with one fell swoop, had single-handedly put out an inferno that would have given a dozen fire-fighters a run for their money.

Danny's skin was an unhealthy blue as his chest heaved with exertion, a cold, exhausted sweat covering his bare chest with a clammy sheen, and he remained conscious just long enough to see that his efforts had succeeded before collapsing from a dangerously low core body temperature. The young man crumpled like a fallen warrior before a scything sword, a soft groan escaping his frostbitten lips, and Danny's fingers and toes, brittle from frostbite, threatened to snap clean off under the weight of his unconscious body.

Brody's feet threatened to slide out from underneath him as he dove to catch the exhausted Fenton before he cracked his skull open on the ice-covered tile, and Danny's momentum almost caused Brody to lose his balance as the agent, supporting the hero in the crook of one arm, used his free hand to grasp a nearby receiver. Praying that the ice hadn't shorted out the phone, Brody punched in a number and nearly sagged with relief as one of his subordinates picked up on the other end.

"This is Brody," the agent said harshly, not giving the other man time to speak. "I'm calling in a Code Red, repeat, Code Red! The perimeter has been breached and I've got a kid here who's gonna turn into a popsicle if he doesn't get to a hospital _now! _Send an ambulance right away, and if it's not here in five minutes I'll have your badge in my desk drawer by the time your shift's over, do you understand? Get me the Amity Police Department down here, and send everyone we can spare from the Bureau to Amity Park so I can put these bastards away! Conduct a perimeter sweep and get the boys from Forensics to pull out all the stops! I want these guys behind bars by breakfast or there'll be the Devil to pay!"

Slamming the phone back onto its hook, Brody held Danny close so as to warm the boy's frigid skin with the heat from his own body. It was a small gesture, but even the tiniest of efforts, Brody knew, could make the difference in times such as these.

"Don't you die on me now, kid," the grizzled agent growled, his outwardly gruff and crusty demeanor masking his worry and grief as the wail of sirens drew ever closer. "Or so help me, I'll find you when I get to the other side and kick your ass…"

_Epilogue_

_From a safe distance away, from the vantage point of a nearby hilltop, two men watched the onslaught of police vehicles screech to a collective halt before a horde of law enforcement officers stormed the grounds amidst the glow of flashlights and the barking of tracking dogs. Slowly, ever so slowly so as not to draw unwanted attention, the first man in the driver's seat put their getaway car into reverse before speeding down the deserted highway._

_By the time the cops realized it, the perpetrators would be long gone._

_Keeping one hand on the wheel, the driver flipped open an illegal burn phone and punched in the only number it contained on its speed dial. _

_Less than a second later, someone answered, and the man's face split into a disturbing grin._

"_Yes, sir," he said quietly. "Everything is proceeding according to plan…"_

A/N: Oh, crap! Will Danny be okay? Will Agent Brody bring down the Society of Light? And will our hero ever win the trust and acceptance of those he strives to protect? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^

On a more serious note, please keep in mind that this will probably be the last update I can get in before I embark on the Alaska cruise; the ship, sadly, has no internet connection, wireless or otherwise, and thus I fear I shall remain indisposed for more than a week until I return home in early June. In the meantime, however, I hope this new update will suffice for now, and I renew my promise to return to my regular updating schedule as soon as I possibly can. Until then, I'm afraid this story is still officially on hiatus, and I wish to express my gratitude, to all of you, for your patience and understanding.

I am, and shall ever remain,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. If there are any obvious typos in this story, I apologize, but I'm typing this late at night and I'm getting kinda sleepy. Rest assured that I shall go back and fix the errors as soon as time allows.


	7. Chapter 7

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_Endure. They'll hate you for it, but that's the point, isn't it? __You __can make the decisions no one else can make."-Alfred Pennyworth, "The Dark Knight" (2008)_

Chapter 7: Of Frostbite and Fury

(A/N: My friends and readers…_I have returned.)_

_Prologue_

_Somewhere, hours ago…_

_Danny Fenton's eyes opened as a hoarse, breathless gasp escaped his lips, and he sat up with a start as __a curious, weightless feeling settled over his body. It was not unlike the sensation of floating in water and not at all unpleasant, and Danny felt his body spin slowly on some invisible axis as his vision cleared._

_The first thing that came to the ghost boy's mind was that he had absolutely no idea where he was._

_Wherever the young hero now found himself, it seemed to resemble the inner workings of a black hole as one might imagine such a thing. All around Danny was a black, swirling, fathomless miasma of inky swirls and eddies, and the scenery would have been unnerving and downright disturbing were it not for a curiously free and unfettered feeling that settled about the young man's shoulders. This place didn't…_feel _threatening at all. Though Danny could not explain it, he realized that here, he felt unburdened, unchained, and unfettered by the worries or day-to-day burdens of the outside world. This carefree emotion was so intoxicating that, the more Danny thought about it, the more he realized that some rebellious part of him did not ever want to leave._

_And why should he go back, anyway? For the first time that he could remember since the beginning of Vlad's final plot, Danny felt safe and secure with every cell in his body whilst in this strange environment. He was, for once, utterly at peace._

_A shadow, shapeless and as yet lacking form, stirred in the dark, and Danny's green eyes, far from panicked, turned calmly in the disturbance's direction. A soft, muted glow of vibrant energy momentarily tainted the twisting tendrils of inky blackness with streaks of verdant light, and moments later the familiar, comforting face of Clockwork, Master of Time, smiled quietly back at him._

"_Hello, Danny," he murmured softly, a gentle, almost paternal expression on his ageless features._

"_Am I dead?" the ghost boy asked, his voice neither worried nor frightened, but instead laced only with mild curiosity._

_Clockwork's grin was wry as he turned from a young man to an infant in the space of a second. "Not exactly."_

"_Then where am I?"_

"_The Void," Clockwork replied quietly. "The space between spaces."_

"_Uh…"_

"_You might call it Purgatory, for lack of a better word," the Lord of the Time-Stream elaborated, "For you are neither in the realm of the living nor in the land of those who have already died. Time as a you know it has no meaning here; even as we stand here talking, what seems like seconds to you and I can be hours, days, or even years in the world of men."_

"_I kinda like it. Can I stay?" Danny's eyelids flickered with longing._

"_Why would you want to do that?" the ghost asked, suddenly serious._

"_I'm….tired, Clockwork," the young hero said, after a moment's thought. "I'm tired of __everything__; __tired __of fighting a battle I can't win, __tired __of everybody despising me for what I am, and __tired __of having to put up with people like Skryme and Barousse, who work to set the world against me. I don't want to go back to a world where everyone on the entire planet knows my secret, where I have to live in Vlad's shadow for the rest of my life."_

"_Your grievances are legitimate," Clockwork conceded. "And I will be the first to admit that you have suffered trials and overcome challenges far greater than men three times your age have faced. More than anyone else, you have earned the right to rest and the reward of forever sleep, but I fear I cannot give it to you…_yet._"_

"_What? Why?" Danny felt despair well in his heart._

_The specter's hand tightened on Danny's shoulder. "It is not yet your time, child. Remember that I see what was, what is, and what may or may not come to pass, and I tell you now that your trials, your hardship and strife, shall not forever go unrewarded. It is in this, your darkest hour, that the world __needs __you to endure its hatred and scorn. You __must __stand strong in the face of adversity, for make no mistake: there are battles ahead for which the human race will __need __its greatest defender." Clockwork's face fell with sadness as he finished. "But if any of this is to take place, you __need __to go back, Danny. Back to __your __world and the life you so desire to leave behind. I fear that there is __far __too much left undone and unsaid for you to cross over now."_

"_I'm gonna be honest with you, Danny admitted, sighing heavily, "Part of me doesn't __want __to go back, not if I can't return to the way things were. I would give __anything __to undo what's happened to me."_

"_So would __all __who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide," the Time Lord murmured. "What matters are the __choices __one makes, not when life is easy, but during the hours when one's days seem at their darkest. You face many such decisions even now: will you let what Vlad forced you to do mark you forever, or will you accept that you did what had to be done and cleanse yourself of the guilt that plagues you? Will you continue to defend the weak and helpless, or will you abandon them and leave the humans to their fate? Will you stand tall as mankind's champion? Will you let them stand alone?"_

"_Give me one reason why should I even_ _try__helping them anymore!" Danny exclaimed, his eyes brimming with tears as his bottled anguish and grief bubbled over. "They're afraid of me, Clockwork! They __won't __go __near __me, they won't __listen __to me, and they sure as __hell __don't __like __me! __They tried to burn down my house, did you know that?_ _How am I supposed to protect all of those people if they won't even accept who I am?"_

"_If you question yourself so, then Vlad has already won," Clockwork replied sagely. "The black seed of self-doubt and resentment is just the thing that your old enemy sought to sow in your heart. If you let it take root within, if you let thoughts of hate and malice cloud your judgment and color your actions, you will follow in Vlad's footsteps and fall into the depths of evil. Should this happen, you will ultimately __become __everything you __swore __to fight against…to the ruin of __all.__"_

"_But no pressure or anything, right?" Danny retorted dryly._

_Clockwork's smile grew wider. "Dear child, while it is true that what has happened to you may seem unfortunate, you must keep in mind always that everything which has come thus far to pass was __meant __to be. The truth can be a bitter pill to swallow at times, but the fact remains that it was __always __Vlad's destiny to expose you, just as it was always __your __fate to ultimately vanquish him."_

"_I think you kinda lost me there," Danny told him, utterly confused. "That makes absolutely __no __sense."_

"_One day it will, but now the time has come for you to return to those you care about," Clockwork advised him, his gentle tones beginning to fade as some unseen force began to draw Danny away. "Endure and find the strength that lies within your heart, because before your days have come to an end…__you will change the world_._"_

_The black abyss was slowly replaced by the blinding red glow of a bright light shining through Danny's still-closed eyelids, and he felt himself being dragged downward through the rapidly vanishing, inky depths to his aching body… _

_Now…_

_Amity Park General Hospital_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

The high-pitched, steady shrill of the machine which recorded Danny's pulse caused his eyelids to twitch open before let out a groan. His vision half-focused, his senses swimming, Danny fought back a wave of nausea as he tried vainly to sit up in his bed. The young hero, understandably disoriented after his little jaunt in the netherworld, flopped back onto his pillow and quietly waited for his eyes to adjust to the bright, droning glare of the elongated, fluorescent bulbs that buzzed overhead.

It was immediately apparent that he was in the hospital for the second time in as many weeks. The now-fully healed scars on Danny's body, remnants of his fight with Vlad, could clearly be seen in all areas not covered by the hospital gown Danny now wore. An IV drip ran into his arm, and Danny felt the needle give a painful twinge as he tried to flex his elbow.

Something moved behind the curtain that sealed off Danny's hospital ward, and for a moment he smiled, anticipating the comforting presence of his family-

-Only to have happiness turn to horror as an unseen hand yanked the screen back to admit a most unwelcome horde of ravenous reporters, each hungry for an exclusive first-hand account of what had happened the night before. Their questions and inquiries formed an indecipherable roar as the flashes of myriad camera bulbs made spots burst in front of Danny's eyes, and he instinctively put a hand up to shield his vulnerable optical organs before a stern-looking, white-haired man in a spotless labcoat stormed into the room.

"Who gave you all permission to be in here?" Dr. Dourman, Danny's new physician, demanded. "This ward is off-limits to all non-personnel, save for family members of the patients! Unless any of you are of relation to this boy, which I doubt, then you had best clear out of my hospital before I call security! Then you can _be_the news as you're all led away in _handcuffs, _rather than simply reporting it! Get out of here, this instant!"

The menacing figure of Thomas Brody materialized behind the medical practitioner. "You heard the man," he growled, fingering the taser on his belt. "And if I see you vultures come near Danny again, _I _won't be as charitable as _he _is."

The stun gun crackled menacingly, and Danny felt hugely relieved as he reached for his clothes, ripping out the IV tube as he did so. The doctor quite nearly fainted at this, and he rushed to Danny's side with a look of genuine concern on his face. "Now, now, let's have none of that," Dourman scolded. "I still have to run some tests to see if and how lowering your core temperature so drastically has affected the biorhythms of your body. And while we're on that particular topic, might I inquire as to what in the _world _were you _thinking_, lowering your body heat so rapidly? You could have killed yourself, for Christ's sake! Enhanced genes or no, as your healthcare provider I cannot and _will_ not allow you to endanger your well-being all willy-nilly!"

"I only did that to stop my house from being burnt to _cinders_," Danny said, somewhat rankled at being chided thus. "And in any case, I'm _fine_. My ghost powers let me heal faster than normal people usually do."

"If nothing else, at least let me take your temperature," the physician insisted. "If your core has not heated sufficiently, any more undue stress and anxiety could send you into shock."

"Okay, but try to hurry," Danny sighed, opening his mouth to accommodate the thermometer as his parents, sister and friends took the place of the now-vanished media. The mercury within the instrument reflected within the doctor's spotless glasses, and he clucked his tongue with surprised satisfaction as he put the tool away.

"Hmmm."

"Was that a good 'hmmm' or a bad 'hmmm'?" the young hero asked, a little nervous despite himself.

Dourman consulted his notes unnecessarily as he began to warm to his subject. "Though your average temperature is lower than that of a normal teenager due to your…_unique _genetics, I will admit that my previous prognosis a moment ago was incorrect. Your body heat has indeed risen drastically since you were admitted the previous evening, far exceeding the normal capabilities of someone within your age group. It is my professional opinion that the ectoplasm which has altered your DNA has somehow strengthened _all_of your bodily systems, as well as increasing your overall physical endurance. The fact that _anyone _can survive so much alteration to one's genetic structure is positively _astounding!_ To be honest, I would like to run some more tests in order to learn a little bit more about how on _Earth_ your ghost and human halves maintain the proper homeostasis to keep you alive. But it seems that professional curiosity will have to wait for another time, since I get the feeling you are eager to leave."

"It's a school day," the halfa muttered. "But compared to that, I'd take being poked and prodded with needlesanytime."

"You don't have to go, Danny," Jazz reminded him. "We won't make you, and Lancer will understand if you tell him what happened."

"I won't be intimidated by the guys who attacked our home last night," Danny shook his head firmly as he reached for his clothes. "If I hide now, they'll know they've gotten to me, that they've frightened me away. I want to show them and everybody else that we won't lie down _that _easily. Speaking of which, how bad was the damage, anyway?"

Maddie Fenton's eyes were sad as tears threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. "See for yourself…"

_Minutes __later…._

The Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle slowed to a crawl as it passed the street on which Fentonworks was located. Danny's hands pressed against the passenger's side window, leaving fingerprints on the glass as he took in the full scale of the defacement of his home.

Almost every window on Fentonworks' ground level had been shattered or broken. These had been covered with blue tarps to keep out the elements, but the gaping holes where the windows had once been whole were no less poignant in their unspoken message of hate. The side walls, so lovingly built of cheery red brick and mortar, reeked of sulfur due to the dozens of eggs that had been shattered against them. The white-ish spatters of egg yolk smeared the semi-damp spray paint which had been used to scrawl scurrilous graffiti and obscenities upon the home Danny held dear, and the rude messages of glaring red and green gave no doubt as to the defacers' intention.

Inside, though Danny could not see it, the situation was even worse. Amidst the swarms of beat cops and FBI agents that painstakingly collected evidence from last evening's assault, Maddie Fenton's beloved kitchen lay in heaping ruins. Black scorch-marks streaked the walls where the flames had licked hungrily at the paint, and many cooking utensils and other kitchenware had been completely destroyed or ruined in the blazing heat. Melted ice from Danny's impromptu method of extinguishing the fire created puddles of chilling water that splashed underfoot and soaked the carpet, threatening to spawn mold in the wallpaper as it dripped from the ceiling.

Danny's fist clenched in silent rage, and he closed his eyes tightly as his vision went red with fury. Though his anger was justified, he could _not_afford to lose his self-control _now, _of all times. To do so would only prove his detractors correct, and Danny had no intention of doing _that. _Obviously many were expecting the ghost child to hunt down those responsible and beat them to a bloody pulp, which Danny was quite capable of doing, but some fiercely determined corner of the young man's heart refused to yield to such petty temptation.

Those men, though they did not deserve it, would be spared the wrath that simmered in Danny's veins. The court system would handle everything once the assailants were caught, and Danny would go nowhere near them so as not to risk accusations of intending bodily harm.

He would _prove_his enemies wrong, if only for the sole purpose and pleasure of spiting them.

"Where are Sam and Tucker?" Danny asked. "Are they safe? Are they all right?"

"We're right behind you, doofus," Sam's teasing voice in Danny's ear caused him to turn around, and he was gratified to see his friends seated in the row behind him.

"Were you guys targeted, as well?" Danny asked quietly.

"It was pretty quiet over at my place," Tucker admitted. "There wasn't really anything unusual, apart from the raccoon that keeps getting into the garbage."

"I wish I could say the same. Some hooligans tried to break into _my_house," Sam's grin was vengeful, "but after Mom and Dad set Hercules on them, they cleared out pretty quick."

"Hercules?" Danny asked.

"Our English mastiff," Sam snickered. "They just barely reached the fence in time."

"That doesn't matter. The only reason they targeted you was because you're my girlfriend," Danny grated his words out through clenched teeth before his tone turned morose. "Your parents blame _me_ for that, don't they?"

"Grandma and I will set them straight," Sam assured him. "And when they've calmed down a little, we'll _both_ talk to them about..._us."_

"Touching," Agent Brody drawled from his seat across the aisle, "But right now we've got bigger things to deal with than your love life, Fenton. First off, who _are _these guys? And why would they start coming after you _now?_ It's been over a month since the disaster over in Europe; they could have done this beforeyou'd even gotten back to the States. The house was still empty then."

"I think they wanted to send you message, little brother," Jazz said thoughtfully, her psychiatric training coming to the fore.

"Any chance that Skryme's involved?" Danny inquired.

"It's possible, but I checked on that lead already," Brody sighed. "Skryme's alibi is iron-clad; he's been in D.C. for over a month now and has barely left his desk. He wasn't there in person, that much I now know, and even if Skryme _organized _the attack, he's covered his tracks well. Everything on his employment record is squeaky clean, and his cyber-trail has been erased too. We can't confirm any correspondence between Skryme and these hate groups just yet, I'm afraid."

"I bet Tuck could trace it," Danny interjected.

"Nice try, kid, but frankly, I doubt that," Brody sighed. "The e-mails have all been spiked. They're untraceable."

"_Spiked? _Oh, please," Tucker snorted confidently. "Trust me, if it's been sent, I can trace it, and if it's got a central processor, I can hack it. This geek's got _mad _skills."

"Hacking is illegal, _boy,_" Brody glared at him. "But for Danny's sake, I'll make an exception because I _suck_ at computers and good tech support is worth its weight in Ben Franklins. Go ahead and do your thing, Foley, but at least keep it to a minimum when _I'm_ around, okay?"

"Got it," Tucker agreed nervously.

Danny fell silent as his father, seated in the driver's side, turned the enormous vehicle into a spare parking space and turned the ignition off.

A great sigh made the young hero's shoulders rise and fall with considerable force, and he wearily grabbed his backpack as his erstwhile friends exited the vehicle on either side of him.

Danny quite without warning grabbed Sam's hand, pulled her close and kissed her right on the lips. He didn't care who saw; he _needed _Sam with him now more than he ever had in the past. It was _Sam _who was the light that shone behind the dark curtain that had descended upon him, and her body was soft and supple, like a small tree, as he pulled her in close to him. The Goth's mouth was warm on Danny's own as he deepened the embrace, her arms instinctively wrapping languidly around his neck, and Sam's eyes closed blissfully as she relished the feeling of Danny's heartbeat thundering against her ribs. The girl's cheeks turned a bright shade of puce as the two finally broke away in order to breathe, and Danny's grin was crooked as his love-struck gaze met Sam's.

"Thanks," he said finally, panting a little. "I needed that."

"Me too," Sam murmured, her blush deepening as she pulled a stray lock of hair away from her violet eyes.

"You sure you're well enough to go to class today, man?" Tucker asked, clearing his throat politely. "I mean, you _were_ in the hospital."

"I'm all right, Tuck," Danny insisted. "Try not worry about me too much, okay?"

"You and I both know that it's _way_ too late for that," Sam smirked sardonically.

"Let's just get to class," the young hero sighed. "The sooner this day is over with, the sooner we can-"

Any further speech was cut off as horror spawned a lump in Danny's throat, and Sam's whole frame shook with anger at the sight that greeted them just outside the grounds of Casper High. Two booths, adorned with a strange logo depicting a shaft of light emerging for a single cloud, had been set up near the entrance and exit to the school. These were laden with small paper brochures and mini-books, and a large banner strung above the two proprietors proclaimed that the stands were offering "Truth pamphlets" to any "young people who wish to become Enlightened." Many of the small papers depicted the halfa in a variety of menacing and villainous poses, and Danny's entire form seethed with fury as Dash Baxter walked up to greet them, a smirk on his face.

"Read it and weep, Fen-turd," he sneered, slapping a copy of one of the pamphlets into Danny's chest with far more force than was necessary without breaking step. The jock's raucous laughter could be heard as his back receded, and the ghost boy's cheeks drained of color as he opened the brochure's folds:

_The Society of Light is dedicated to educating the public and our nation's young people on the truth about half-ghost hybrids such as Mr. Fenton, who claim to be protectors but are only capable of destruction. The Society announces its official formation today, and with this instructional pamphlet, it shall send the Light to every home in every major city of the United States._

_While the Society stringently denies any responsibility for the attack on Mr. Fenton's home and admits that such measures may seem drastic to some, it nevertheless applauds the actions of ordinary citizens who have taken steps to assure the safety of their own families and loved ones. The methods may have been extreme, but the cause and motivation for the defacement of the half-breed's domicile was legitimate. We must all remember that such steps can, at times, be necessary to ensure a greater good for the future of humanity, but nevertheless the Society promises the public that it does and will continue to exercise stringent control and authority over its members to prevent any needles destruction of public or private property._

Danny felt his cheeks heat up with humiliation, and Tucker had to physically restrain Sam from strangling the two distributors as her eyes glazed over with fury. The paper made a crinkling sound as the ghost boy crumpled it into a ball and crushed it contemptuously underneath his foot.

"Don't do it, Sam," Danny said wearily. "They're not worth it, and if we even _look_at them the wrong way they'll find some excuse to have me arrested."

"You can't just lie down and _take _this crap!" Sam exclaimed incredulously. "They're probably _lying, _Danny, and on top of _that, _they're making a point of rubbing the _fact o_f that lie in your face!"

"Yeah," the halfa replied, a melancholy smile on his face. "I know."

"Don't be so down, kid," the hulking form of Brody seemed to materialize suddenly behind the boy as he drained a cup of Hawaiian dark roast. "You're forgetting that there _is _one thing that can be salvaged from this big mess."

"What's that?" Tucker asked skeptically, trying to hide his consternation that the agent could sneak up so quietly and so stealthily.

"Don't you think it's odd," Brody continued casually, "that these folks went public less than twenty-four hours after the attack? And that they specifically _mentioned _the incident _and _denied any involvement, despite the fact that no one seemed to be asking any unwanted questions?"

"It _does _seem strange, now that you mention it," Sam admitted.

"_Exactly,_" Brody finished, the fierce smile on his face reminiscent of a ravenous wolf on the trail of its prey.

"And _that _means we've found our first suspect. You kids better go on to class before the bell rings; but while _you _go to school, I think _I've_ got a few calls to make. I'll let you know what I find out this afternoon."

"You want us to find you after classes let out, then?" Jazz asked.

"Nope," Brody shook his head, his hand already reaching for the phone in his pocket as he turned to go. "_I'll _come and find _you._"

The venerable agent disappeared inside his vehicle, and Sam's grin was wry as she turned to Danny. "I'm half-convinced that he _meant _to sound kinda creepy just now."

"Probably," Danny shuddered, as memories of his days on the lam returned in a rush. "And what's even scarier is that I actually _believe _him. I know firsthand that it's almost impossible to elude someone like Brody for long."

"It's not Brody they should worry about. I'm gonna beat the _crap _out those guys," Sam vowed, her pace quickening as the trio moved towards Casper High's front entrance.

"Well, when you do," Danny's grin was wider than a peeled banana as he tenderly kissed her again. "I hope I'm there to see it."

A/N: Yes, it is true, my friends! By the grace of God, I am able to now continue work on my story, but before I go any further I wish to express my undying gratitude to you all for your patience during my absence. I thus reward your understanding with this nice, long chapter as a personal gesture of appreciation! ^^ Also, a special thanks goes out to all of you who sent me letters wishing me good fortune on my journey, and with a grateful heart I swear to you now that I shall indeed return to the schedule to which you have all become accustomed. Updates will now be posted in a consistent and predictable manner, barring unforeseen complications. I shall endeavor to inform you of these if they should arise, but thankfully I do not see any in the immediate future. I usually update every two days or thereabouts, so don't let the suspense get to you; it won't be that long before you guys hear from me again! ^^ I again thank you, ALL OF YOU, for your kindness and understanding during my absence, and it is with great joy that I officially, and with great fanfare, take "Breaking Dawn" off of hiatus! God bless you all, and rest assured that the new chapter WILL be up either Tuesday, June 7th, or Wednesday, June 8th! ^^

I am, and shall forever be,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. To any of my dear readers who reviewed the chapter six and are therefore not able to review this one, I would enormously appreciate it if you would PM me your reviews. I implore you, don't hesitate to let me know what you thought of this chapter; whether in a public review or in a private conversation, I ALWAYS want to hear what each of you have to say. I treasure the valuable feedback and advice you all have thus far given me, and only by listening to the readers can an author improve his skills. So drop me a line, okay? YOUR OPINION COUNTS. ^^


	8. Chapter 8

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_Peace over anger. Honor over hate. Strength over fear."-The Jedi Code_

Chapter 8: Danny and Turin

Danny's sneakers squeaked on the freshly-mopped tile floor as he rushed to beat the tardy bell, and the hallway in which he trod smelled of stale bubble gum, chlorine disinfectant, and the pungent scent of packed humanity. Tucker and Sam were close behind as the young hero waded into the herd of stampeding alumni, but even the reassuring presence of his friends did little to banish the distinctly hostile and suspicious atmosphere that seemed to have invaded Casper High. The glances with which Danny's peers now regarded him were considerably more unnerving than they had been before, as if the entire school had been tainted by the Society of Light's bigoted doctrine, and the young hero suppressed a shudder as his fellow men looked upon him with a mixture of suspicion, wariness, and even open contempt.

The Society was clearly having an impact within the walls of Casper High School. More than a few of its student body had apparently been seduced by its hateful preaching, and this worked to create an aura of uncontained menace that pervaded every classroom while catching Danny totally off-guard. Though he had anticipated that at least _some _of the other kids would fall for the lies of the Society, he had not expected…_this._ Even as he made his way to Lancer's classroom the students gave Danny a wide berth, as if they were ashamed to be seen associating with or going anywhere _near _him.

From the lengths to which his peers went to avoid the young hero, one would think that Danny had contracted some strain of virulently contagious and deadly disease, rather than being in possession of an extraordinary gift. Their faces stony, their eyes front, and their footsteps quick, the hallway emptied like water in a sieve only moments after Danny had made his reluctant re-appearance.

"You'd find more welcome in a freaking _cemetery_," Sam muttered under her breath. "Jerks…"

"The only way the Society would be in a cemetery is if _I'm _the one being put in it," Danny grinned bitterly.

"I think _I _can help with that," the sneering voice of Dash Baxter caused Danny's hackles to rise in irritation as he turned to face his long-time tormentor. The triumphant, vindictive smile on the football star's arrogant features made Danny's palms _itch _to blast his teeth right out of his mouth, and as he struggled with the urge to melt Dash's face, his mind flashed back to a passage he'd read in _The Children of Hurin._ The paragraph detailed a confrontation between Turin, the protagonist, and a hostile Elf named Saeros.

_Saeros was proud, dealing arrogantly with those whom he deemed of lesser state and worth than himself. Therefore he looked askance at Turin and all that he did, saying what ill he could of it, and if he met with Turin alone, he spoke haughtily to him and showed plain his contempt. And Turin grew weary of him, though for long he returned ill words with silence…_

"Can I reschedule this or something?" Danny asked, trying not to let his exasperation show. "I'm gonna be late for class-"

_WHAM!_

The breath was driven from the ghost boy's lungs as Dash suddenly and quite without warning grabbed the collar of his shirt and slammed him into a nearby locker. Danny gasped, winded and stunned, and he only just managed to catch the jock's fist as it lunged toward his face. White with shock and pale with fury, a lesser, more vindictive part of Danny Fenton reveled in Dash's shocked expression before his grip on the football star's hand began to tighten. The fragile wrist and finger bones threatened to snap like kindling as Danny's enhanced strength slowly forced Dash down on one knee, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked down upon his enemy.

_And Saeros one day waylaid Turin as he set off early from Doriath, and Turin had gone only a little way when Saeros ran out upon him with drawn sword. But Turin, trained in the wild to wariness, had grown as agile and wise in war as any Elf. And with haste did Turin draw swiftly his blade Gurthang, the sword of black steel, and turn upon his foe. With a mighty swing he clove Saeros' shield, and wounding his sword-arm he had him at his mercy. _

"I don't want to fight you," Danny said calmly.

"Too bad," Dash smiled through tears of agony. "'Cuz it's open season on _you¸ _Fen-toast. You think I'd be stupid enough to try whalin' on you in broad daylight if I wasn't _sure _I could get _away _with it? The Society's already bought several members of the faculty, including the _principal, _so now me an' my pals can do whatever we like as long as we do it to _you._"

"Lancer won't allow it."

"_Lancer's _on his way out, just you wait," Dash grinned sadistically. "Soon enough, there won't be _anyone _here who'll stick up for you, and then we'll see some _fun!"_

With a quick jerk, Dash only just managed to free himself from Danny's grasp, and he sullenly nursed his throbbing hand as he disappeared around the corner. "See you in gym class, Fenton; I'll give you so many mat burns that you'll need _skin grafts!_ Hahahahaha!"

Sam laid a hand comfortingly on Danny's shoulder. "Don't listen to him," she murmured. "He's bluffing."

"I hope so," Tucker's face was worried.

Danny's chest rose and fell with a great sigh, and he slumped slightly whilst Lancer's dominion hove into view. It seemed as though the weight of the world had been suddenly placed upon him, and the strain was etched into Danny's face as though it were chiseled in stone.

Such a burden would have undoubtedly been great, but it actually would have been preferable to the dilemma that he now faced.

The classroom door swung open with a drawn-out, eerie creak, and Danny took a moment to turn to his friends before they followed him inside. "You and me both."

Though the small room that was Lancer's had until that moment been alive with the buzzing drone of blended conversation as the students waited for the tardy bell to sound, Danny's entrance into the midst of his fellow pupils caused the talk to abruptly cease. Silence, instantaneous and unnerving, made Danny's skin break out in goosebumps, and the hostile gazes of those around him seemed to grow even more judgmental when supplemented with the Society's vitriolic prejudice. Dozens of unblinking eyes pierced Danny like a volley of barbed arrows, and he struggled not to show his discomfort as he claimed his usual desk in the back row.

Mr. Lancer, instantly recognizable with his balding head and slightly protruding stomach, seemed not to notice the unnerving change as he marked attendance on a battered clipboard. The venerable teacher hummed a soft tune under his breath as his pencil scurried across the paper, and, that done, turned languidly to face the sea of disinterested and already-dozing teenagers.

Danny could not have slept even if he'd wanted to. He was partially convinced that someone would try to accost him whilst he dozed.

"Doubtless you all remember our lesson covering Christopher Tolkein's _The Children of Hurin_ last time," Lancer began. "I believe we left off in our reading on page-Yes, Mr. Fenton?"

Danny fought the urge to cringe as those seated about him turned to stare, as if affronted by the fact that he had asked to speak, and he took a moment to curse Vlad's memory yet again.

But, as Vlad's hateful features flashed through Danny's brain, he found himself making some sort of comparison between his deceased nemesis and the Dark Lord-Danny could not recall his name- that was featured in the reading Lancer had given. With this in mind, the young hero found himself giving voice to a question that now nagged at him with irritating consistency.

"Um…I was kinda wondering…"

"Go on," Lancer's tone turned just a little bit more gentle as he encouraged his student to continue.

"You said that the bad guy in _this_ book was different from the one in the trilogy, right?"

"Ah, yes, Morgoth," Lancer nodded, clarifying Danny's query. "The first and mightiest Dark Lord."

"Right," Danny nodded. "And I was, uh, just curious-I mean, it might be a bit off-topic—you made it sound, when you talked about him, that he wasn't _always _like that. Evil, I mean."

"An excellent inference," Lancer smiled. "And you're right. 'Morgoth' was not his name in the beginning; he was once Melkor, He-Who-Arises-In-Might, and the greatest of the Valar at the creation of the world. It was originally the Elves who called him Morgoth, or Black Enemy of the World, and by that name he was known forever after. He had part in the powers and knowledge of all the other Valar, but for Melkor, it was not enough. He turned his strength to evil purposes, squandered his strength in violence and tyranny. You see, Melkor coveted Middle-Earth and all that was in it, as well as lordship over the other Valar, for himself, but when he could not achieve his desires he fell from grace, with wrath and fire, into the depths of evil. Melkor perverted and corrupted all that the other Valar created, and so great was his malice that the entire world and all that was once pure became tainted with his evil. Morgoth worked endlessly to undo and thwart their designs; in mockery of life he bred the first Orcs and Trolls, and it by his black arts that fell beings like Balrogs first came into being. Even the fearsome Dragons, such as Smaug from _The Hobbit,_ were created in the Elder Days to serve Morgoth's will.

Eventually, however, the wrath of the Valar grew so great that Morgoth was utterly defeated. His armies were almost entirely slaughtered, the Balrogs and Dragons practically exterminated, and his great fortress of Angband reduced to rubble. The few survivors of Morgoth's once-mighty host were forced to flee, Sauron among them, and with fear in their hearts they hid themselves in the deep places of Middle-Earth. Morgoth himself was brought before the Valar and cast out from the world to be trapped in the Outer Void, and legend says that he will remain there until the Dagor Dagorllach, or End of Days. At that time, he will escape from his prison and the last battle between good and evil will be fought, but it will not be of the Valar's will that Morgoth will meet his end. Rather, it will be at the hand of the spirit of Turin, upon the point of Gurthang, that Morgoth will finally be vanquished; when that happens, all the evil that he wrought upon the land will be undone, and the world shall be made anew."

Danny felt his skin crawl at the mention of Turin slaying Morgoth, and it was not lost upon him how eerily similar Morgoth's inevitable fate was to that of Vlad Plasmius. "R-Right," he said, trying not to keep his voice from shaking. "Thanks."

"I'm always happy to expound on the lesson," Lancer grinned. "By the way, Danny, do you by chance have your extra-credit assignment completed?"

"Yeah."

"Excellent. See me after class and you can hand it in to me then," Lancer concluded. "Now, assuming you all had the foresight to bring your reading material to class, we shall now turn to page one hundred and thirty-seven…"

Danny felt himself relax ever so slightly. Lancer, it seemed, was immune to the hate of the Society, and for that the young hero was enormously grateful. The fact that his teacher went to such lengths to help him gave Danny some small measure of comfort, and in spite of it all his face split into the tiniest of smiles. If Lancer still believed in him, perhaps others would, too.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still hope…

_Epilogue_

_Washington, D.C._

_The beady, quick, and squinty eyes of the rat-like Andrew Skryme narrowed into evil little slits as he reclined at his desk, and his rumpled, unkempt clothes, stained and frayed, were evidence not only of his countless late shifts but also of the reckless fervor with which Skryme had thrown himself into conducting his private vendetta with Danny Fenton._

_The Society of Light had been a stroke of the ex-major's malevolent genius. With a mere click of a mouse, Danny's self-sworn foe had absconded with thousands of dollars to fund the group's formation. A few phone calls, made anonymously, had been enough to persuade several fanatical religious groups to pledge fealty to his "holy" cause, and through these rabid reverends Skryme had brought the Society into being. Slowly at first, then with ever-greater numbers, those citizens who had been deceived by Skryme's lies had rallied to the Society's call to arms. Every venue through which Skryme could spread his hate had been utilized following the creation of his pet Society; the ex-major had already purchased slots for TV infomercials, placed "Enlightening" ads in America's most prestigious magazines and newspapers, and rented roadside billboards along all the nation's major thoroughfares._

_Skyrme, of course, did not share his followers' zeal for their "mission." The Society and those in it were, to his mind, nothing more than tools that he would use to further his own nefarious ends. Whether the Society succeeded or failed was of little consequence; the point was to do as much damage to Danny Fenton's reputation as humanly possible. The Society would serve its purpose no matter what the eventual outcome would be, and when it had outlived its usefulness Skryme would simply abandon it. He was not given to sentimentality even on his best of days._

_No matter who won, Skryme vowed silently, Danny Fenton was bound to __lose._

_The clunky phone at the villain's desk gave a piercing shriek as someone dialed on the other end, and Skryme cleared his throat for a moment before holding the receiver to his ear._

"_What news of the Light?" he said, altering his normally nasal and high-pitched tone so as to appear gentle and almost fatherly._

"_Many at the Dark One's school have embraced Enlightenment," a voice on the other end replied. "Already, our foothold in Amity has begun to grow stronger."_

"_Do not let overconfidence blind you," Skryme replied softly. "The boy is still very dangerous, as are the traitors to humanity that call themselves his friends. Do not cease your campaign now; keep spreading the Word and expose the ghost child for what he truly is, and we shall soon have peace. The assault on the boy's domicile was brilliantly done, by the way."_

"_We may have a problem concerning the first strike of our holy crusade," the caller admitted. "The one called Brody has begun sniffing around. He and his superiors seem to think the boy is worth protecting; I fear the attack may be traced back to us."_

"_Then you must silence him. Permanently."_

"_But, sir, is that really-"_

"_When the world is in peril, certain sacrifices must be made to ensure the greater good," Skryme said, his voice growing stern. "Brody's life is meaningless compared to the fate of the entire human race. Keep him under surveillance, observe his comings and goings, and when you think he is at his most vulnerable…do what must be done."_

"_I understand, sir," the second man said dutifully. "We will take appropriate precautions so that Brody's…accident…does not hinder us."_

"_See that you do," Skryme nodded, hanging up the phone. "Long live the Light!"_

_The device clicked softly back onto its receiver, and Skryme's belly shook with mirth whilst he marveled at just how __easy__ to manipulate these people were._

"_Hahahahaha! __Fools!__"_

A/N: OMG NOOO! Not Brody! Skryme's gone too far this time! But will he succeed in putting Brody in his grave? Will Danny overcome the odds? And will the Society ever be stopped? Find out in coming installments! And (by now you probably saw this coming! XD) as always, PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have ANY ideas, suggestions, comments or questions, LET ME KNOW!

And yes, I know this chappie's a little short, but I wanted to elaborate more on the similarities between Danny and Turin; I felt that I'd neglected that part for a little while, and it seemed like that would be an interesting concept to explore further. ^^ I'll try to make the next chapter longer, so no worries, 'kay?

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	9. Chapter 9

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 9: Prelude-Agent Thomas Brody, Missing in Action!

_Starbuck's Coffee, Amity Park_

The venerable and formidable Agent Brody took a moment to sniff his caramel macchiato appreciatively before bringing it to his lips and sipping with utmost relish. The dark, steaming liquid was still warm as he swallowed delicately, and Brody felt new energy coursing through him as he partook in one of the few daily rituals he had ever enjoyed.

It went without saying back in D.C. that Brody was notoriously addicted to coffee of any kind, largely due to the dependence his body had developed on the caffeine contained therein. True, such a strong physical and mental reliance was somewhat detrimental to the old agent's health, but Brody had stopped caring years ago; he had neither the time nor finances to spend on support groups or hypnotherapists, and in any case Brody's natural obstinacy and stubbornness would have impeded any effort to rid himself of his addiction. Coffee, therefore, was Brody's kryptonite, so to speak; if he went too long without it, he grew lethargic, grouchy and fatigued. Putting up with months of what was in all honesty a spell of withdrawal was repugnant to Brody, and thus he had cheerfully pursued his greatest passion with carefree abandonment.

There was a running joke among his oldest coworkers back in the Bureau that Brody would gladly have traded both of his ex-wives in exchange for a fresh cup of Java early in the morning. Brody, being none too fond of either of his former lovers, had never denied the truth of that statement.

Any negative effect such consumption would take upon the scarred veteran was almost irrelevant. Brody was no longer young, and he was feeling older by the day; he could feel his once-strong body beginning to tire as old injuries began to add up. His back ached, his wrists and fingers were growing brittle with the onset of arthritis, and his blood pressure was now growing to be such a problem that Brody had grudgingly agreed to a regimen of pills and liquid medicines. Only just that morning, Brody had found, to his horror, that merely gripping the handle of his beloved Sig Sauer had been a chore with the stabbing pain that throbbed in his joints.

Brody knew that he had, at most, about twenty years left to him. That bitter knowledge only increased his determination to see Fenton absolved in the eyes of the world before he passed on.

Death didn't frighten him, though, at least not for the most part. Brody had had more than enough brushes with the Grim Reaper's robe in the line of duty to cure _that. _After all, one can only dodge a bullet so many times before the harrowing experience lost some of its edge.

Brody's throat wobbled as he downed the last of his hot beverage, and his keys jingled softly in his pocket as he checked the watch on his wrist. Fenton and his companions would be out of school in less than half an hour, according to the time, and a fresh sense of urgency made Brody's pace quicken as he emerged into the parking lot. It was, after all, the agent's job to be there so as to ferry the kid home in safety and obscurity, and Brody, by his nature, did not tolerate tardiness.

His crusty exterior may have said otherwise, but Brody had secretly grown rather fond of the Fenton boy. Make no mistake, thee coarse and blunt-natured agent normally related poorly to children and got along even worse with teenagers, but Fenton's sense of duty and his way of seeing the world in absolutes of right and wrong mirrored Brody's own philosophies and thus endeared the boy to him. Fenton was living proof that mankind could be something greater, and after so many years of putting teenagers away, Brody was enormously grateful to have his faith in the younger generation renewed.

The ridiculous-looking hybrid rental car that the agent had grudgingly rented made an audible _beep_ as he opened the driver's side door, and humming an old tune under his breath, Brody went to turn the key in the ignition.

But so absorbed was he in his thoughts that Brody never noticed that the door had _already_ been unlocked.

Brody fumbled for the button that would turn on the air conditioning, swearing to himself as he did so. "Piece of crap," he growled, one hand reaching to adjust the mirror. "I dunno what half of these damn buttons are even for. Gimme an '87 Buick any day. Now _that _was a car…"

The rearview lens swiveled in the desired direction, and Brody, satisfied that all was to his liking, momentarily relaxed-

-Until he noticed that a stranger, disguised in a ski mask, seemed to have suddenly materialized on the back seat. By pure instinct, Brody's hand flashed to the weapon that lay in his belt, but the element of surprise was on the side of the enemy. The old agent had been caught completely off guard, the stock of his gun tangled in the seat belt that lay strapped across his chest, and as he fumbled to free the battle-scarred Sig a syringe appeared in the assailant's hand. Like a hissing snake the stranger lunged forward, jabbing the needle into Brody's neck.

The sharp pain caused Brody to roar like a savage animal, and he tore the needle from his flesh before loosening several of the other man's teeth with a swipe across the jaw. Stunned, the masked attacker slumped against the seat, nursing his broken jaw, and Brody went to finish him off-

Only to lurch like a swaying tree in his seat as the syringe's contents began to take effect. Brody's vision began to swim, as though the car were mounted on some giant carnival ride, and nausea tinged his cheeks with green as he doubled over in shock and a sudden spell of enormous fatigue. Brody's arms and legs seem to be made of lead, dangling uselessly as the serum rendered him unable to move, and he sagged against the wheel like a limp sausage as his cognitive functions began to go offline.

As helpless as a newborn kitten, Brody lay completely at his captor's mercy as the thug removed his mask and wiped thin ribbon blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Judgment day, _traitor,"_ he grinned. "There's enough knockout serum in your veins to fell an elephant. Personally, I'd have just killed you and been done with it, but our Leader wants to question you before administering the Light's justice."

Brody, in keeping with his reputation as a fighter by nature, used his last ounce of strength to look his attacker right in the eye and growl his defiance.

"Fuck…you…"

A/N: I know, I know, this was a very short chapter, but this was really just a prelude that I needed to get out of the way before I begin the next story arc. I also thought it would give the story some depth if we got a little insight into Brody's POV, so, length notwithstanding, I hope you all enjoyed it! ^^ And what a BRUTAL cliffie! Will Brody be saved in time? Will his captors make him sing like a canary? And will Danny notice Brody's absence before it's too late? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! Seriously, I only got like five last time, and I REALLY want to hear some feedback from you guys on how I'm doing. I care about what YOU have to say, so if you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^

And for those of you who wrote in wondering if I enjoy putting the weight of the world on Danny's shoulders: Yes. Yes, I do. ^^

(Oh, my God, what's wrong with me…?)

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	10. Chapter 10

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 10: To Rescue Brody

_Somewhere…_

Thomas Brody's rheumy eyes, almost useless without the glasses that he kept in his pocket, flickered beneath their hooded lids before opening ever so slightly. His mouth was dry and swollen, his tongue parched like a piece of bread due to the after-effects of the sedative that had been administered. Raging thirst made Brody's throat burn as he momentarily mourned that coffee that had been lost in the course of his abduction-

-_Abduction,_ Brody thought, the memory of the assault in his vehicle flashing through his brain at the speed of light. _Son of a bitch, I've been kidnapped! No one's gotten the drop on me in forty years,_ he added, somewhat morosely. _I really _must _be old, to let my guard down like that…_

Brody's head swiveled in his chair, but his movement was restricted by the heavy-duty plastic ties that bound his wrists, feet, and even his neck. The agent's captors had either heard of Brody's fearsome reputation or were certifiably paranoid, but either way the layers of restraints served to nullify any immediate plan of escape and reduce the scrappy old cop to the helplessness of a newborn kitten.

He tried to scoot his seat forward a bit, but cursed violently as he discovered that the piece of furniture had been bolted to the floor. Though he was loathe to admit it, Brody had to give his captors credit for thoroughness; he'd only come across a few such criminals who'd had the foresight to do such a thing.

The old agent's eyes flickered as he tried to gain stock of wherever the hell it was that he was now imprisoned, but Brody quickly realized that this was an exercise in futility. The room was dark, so dark that Brody partially suspected that he had somehow been transported to a subterranean chamber, and off in the inky blackness a leaky pipe dripped methodically amongst the squeaking and scurrying of mice and roaches.

In spite of his predicament, sardonic grin nevertheless crossed Brody's face. _What is this, the set of a James Bond movie? All that's needed now is a cat for one of these people to stroke!_

"Glad to see you're awake, Agent. You have been unconscious for quite some time, you know. I was beginning to fear that we had used too _much_ sedative," a voice, as yet unseen, interrupted the agent's mental mockery just before a hidden door swung open. The dim light, cast by a guttering torch, nevertheless seemed blinding to the captive Brody, and the silhouette of his captor seemed to take pleasure in his discomfort before continuing. "I sincerely apologize for your…forced invitation, but you understand that we must do what is necessary. We have a few questions we'd like to ask you; answer them, and perhaps your situation won't become…unpleasant. If you cooperate with us-"

"Go fuck yourself."

"You would be wise to remember your current position before addressing me like _that_," the man warned, his tone growing dangerous.

"Long…and hard," Brody continued, as if he had not heard.

_Smack!_

The as-yet-unnamed villain backhanded Brody across the face, and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth as he grinned back at him. "I've met Girl Scouts who've hit me harder for not buying their cookies," the agent spat. "Who taught you how to punch, Elmo from 'Sesame Street'?"

"I do not have the time to exchange petty insults," Brody's captor snarled, motioning for several of his lackeys to join him in the room. "You are close to him, are you not? You know his strengths and weaknesses. Does he attack on your command, as he does for the Manson girl?"

"Who?" Brody asked, trying to buy time.

"Don't play stupid with us, _Brody_," the man sighed, "You know very well who._ Tell me:_ when is the child vulnerable? When is the best time for us to strike?_"_

"Here's a better idea, buddy," Brody snarled. "How about _you _tell me how you legitimize the misery and suffering you've brought upon a fourteen-year-old kid?"

"Suffering? No, no, no, Agent, we are _preventing _suffering," the kidnapper shook his head vigorously. "The suffering that will ensue if the child is allowed to walk among humans. You have seen what he is capable of firsthand, have you not? Fenton is an unnatural creature, an abomination in the eyes of God! His fell abilities can only destroy, and he uses them to perpetrate false acts of heroism so as to hide his evil agenda from the eyes of the world. Surely you cannot believe that such a foul, unclean creature is fit to walk among _us;_ if he is permitted to roam free, the boy will bring about destruction upon us all! He is evil incarnate, the spawn of the Lucifer! The ghost child dwells in evil, and the Devil walks with him! If he is not driven and cast out from men, we will all pay the price for our 'tolerance!' We're facing a threat to human life as we know it, and you, a _cop_ are _allowing _it to happen!"

"You ever watch those old World War II documentaries?" Brody inquired sarcastically. "I'll bet you have no idea how much you sound like Adolf Hitler! Are you gonna start goose-stepping and wearing armbands next? You guys are using the same conviction to justify what you're doing to Fenton, to set your conscience at ease while you torment an innocent kid who's trying to do the right thing, and after you've fooled yourself into thinking your actions are justified, you sleep peacefully in your bed every night."

"I will sleep peacefully when the world recognizes Fenton for what he truly is," the anonymous villain snapped back as one of his underlings placed a collapsible baton in his outstretched hand. "Now _tell_ us: what weaknesses does the Dark One have that we may use to our advantage?"

Brody's lips clamped tightly shut, his eyes radiating defiance.

"Agent…" the man's voice grew soft and dangerous. "Answer my question."

"Go to hell."

_SMACK!_

Brody bit down the urge to howl in agony as the metal club scythed diagonally across his face, loosening several fillings and knocking a tooth clean out of its socket. Brody spat the dislodged molar defiantly in his tormentor's face, spattering the hidden features with crimson blood.

"We _will _do whatever it takes to ensure the success of the Light's crusade," the villain hissed, wiping Brody's ichor from his lips with the hem of his sleeve. "Given enough…_persuasion…_even the mightiest dam will break sooner or later."

"In that case, I hope you don't have any plans this evening," Brody snorted, his smashed lip trickling blood onto his trousers. "And for the record, my grandmother used to smack me harder than that with her _cane_ when I was _eight!_"

_SMACK!_

The cold steel made a sound reminiscent of an iron rebar slamming into a raw slab of meat as it connected with Brody's jaw, and the agent felt something fracture as the thunderous impact sent lances of pain arcing across his skull.

_SMACK!_

Brody doubled over, winded and breathless, as the remorseless instrument gave a sickening _thud_ upon colliding with his rib cage like a runaway train. Several somethings _cracked _audibly as the agent's vision went white with agony, but Brody's grueling FBI training came to the fore as he clamped his mouth resolutely shut.

"Do yourself a favor and _talk_," the mystery man whispered in Brody's ear, wiping the bloody instrument on his prisoner's trenchcoat. "For the Light's justice can be terrible indeed. Make no mistake, Agent Brody: we are not afraid of making those who oppose the True Way disappear, for God is on our side!"

"Here's…a better…idea…" Brody's chest ached with the effort of gasping through his fractured ribs. "Do…the _world _a favor…and throw yourself in front of… a freaking _train!"_

Growling wordlessly, the agent's torturer tossed the now-dented and slightly bent club to the ground before nodding the direction of the door from whence he'd entered. As if on cue, another man, disguised in yet another Halloween mask, wheeled in a trolley laden with a sickening variety of evil-looking instruments.

With slow, deliberate movements, the villainous kidnapper deftly plucked a surgical scalpel from its tray and delicately tested its edge with his fingertip.

"Keep in mind," he warned, advancing on his victim, "This is only the beginning of the price you will pay for your silence, Thomas Brody."

The Agent's eyes widened as the shadow of his tormentor loomed over him, the wickedly sharp blade seeming to glitter in anticipation.

_Aw, crap…_

_Meanwhile…_

_Casper High School_

Danny Fenton's foot tapped the asphalt impatiently as his girlfriend, Sam, checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes.

"Where is he?" the Goth asked. "Didn't Brody say he'd be here after school?"

"Yeah," Tucker's tone was thoughtful. "Maybe he had to go to the bathroom or something, what with all that coffee he drinks."

"Could he have gotten caught in traffic?" Sam put in, chewing her lip with worry.

"If that were the case, he would have called us ahead of time," Danny shook his head, dismissing the idea. "Brody has my cell number; he knows how to get in touch. And besides, he's not one to be late if he can help it, either."

"Did you try calling him, then?"

"Yeah, I did, several times, but he's not answering."

"That doesn't sound good," Tucker sucked in a breath through his teeth. "Do you think the people who attacked your house might have gotten to Brody? He said he'd be checking into a few things, remember? Maybe he got too close to something that the attackers wanted to hide."

"Knowing Brody, I'd say that's a strong possibility," Danny admitted, his pulse rising as a fresh wave of concern for his friend welled up inside of him. "And it'd explain why he's not picking up his phone, too!"

"What do we do?" Sam inquired, urgency overtaking her as well.

"_You _guys aren't going to do anything, at least not yet," Danny said apologetically. "We don't know who these people are, _where _they are, or how many of them might be holding Brody."

"Why not just blast in there and bust him out?" Tucker demanded. "You can take on a dozen people with one hand behind your back!"

"Those wackos might have _kidnapped_ Brody," Danny murmured. "And if they're okay with crossing _that_ line, there's no telling what else they might be capable of. I don't want you guys to put yourselves at risk until we have some idea of who and what we're dealing with, okay? I'll do the heavy lifting to free Brody if he _has _been abducted, and while I'm doing that I need you two to call the cops."

"Make sure to leave bruises," Sam hissed ferociously, red murder in her eyes as she fantasized about throttling Brody's captors.

"I'd like to, but I can't," Danny refuted her. "If at all possible, I'd like to sneak in, grab Brody and sneak back out without having to punch anyone. Otherwise one of those jerks could have _me _brought up on assault charges or something. I told you guys that they'll take any excuse, especially with so many people following my life like some second-rate TV show."

"Do you _always _have to be so virtuous?" Sam sighed exasperatedly.

"Would you like me if I were anything else?" Danny teased back, before turning serious once more. "Tuck, I'll need one of your spare GPS locators so you can give the cops Brody's location when I track his abductors down. Keep your phone on and wait for my signal, okay? I'll send you a text as soon as Brody and I are in the clear. Sam, find Jazz and tell her to have her car nearby if I'm unable to fly out; we'll need to get out of there pretty quick if we have people chasing us…or worse."

"Got it," Tucker nodded, clipping a small device deftly onto the waistband of Danny's jeans.

"You sure all this is necessary?" Sam asked, trying in vain to be the optimist. "I mean…it _could _be nothing."

Danny turned back at her, and for an instant his expression seemed to mirror that of his grizzled protector. The ghost boy's expression was dark as his words mirrored an expression he'd heard Brody say several times before.

"My gut says otherwise."

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUN! Well, it looks like Danny and company FINALLY noticed something was amiss, eh? But will Danny make it in time to save his friend? Will Brody succumb to his wounds? And will the Society of Light and Skryme _ever_ be stopped? Find out in coming chapters!


	11. Chapter 11

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 11: Into the Lions' Den! A Covert Mission to Save Agent Brody!

Danny Fenton, resplendent in his ghostly form and invisible to the naked eye, felt a chilly, foreboding wind in his snow-white hair as he soared hundreds of feet above the streets of Amity. The buildings below his searching gaze looked almost like toys from the viewpoint of such high elevation, and Danny felt his skin break out in goosebumps as his signature black jumpsuit did little to disperse the icy air.

The small nodule in Danny's ear, more compact and much more sophisticated than your average Bluetooth, picked up the vibrations in the ghost boy's throat as he strained to talk audibly over the shrieking gale. Shooting through the sky like a swooping raptor, Danny took some amount of solace from anticipating Tucker's voice in his ear; the sound of his friend provided a tiny amount of comfort against the anxiety for what lay ahead.

The mission of Danny and his friends consisted of two parts: finding the location to which Brody had been taken, and somehow managing to get the agent out without having to clock anyone across the face. Any violence on Danny's part would surely be twisted by the press and media to make Danny's infiltration look more like a burglary or assault rather than an attempt to rescue his friend, and the last thing Danny needed right now was even _more _bad press.

"You there, Tuck?"

"Yeah," Tucker replied, his fingers flying over the keyboard of the desktop computer back in Danny's room. The monitor and CPU had been utterly mutated in the course of the modifications Tucker had made for the purpose of this mission; wires of every shape and size snaked out in every direction like the hair on Medusa's head. An almost constant whirring could be audibly heard as Danny's friend worked his technological magic, but Tucker's face was abnormally serious as he continued his work. "I'm trying to triangulate the signal from Brody's wireless phone; if he still has it on him, it should lead us to wherever he's being held. Then all you have to do is bust him out without decking anyone, assuming that, one, he's alive at all right now, two, that you can find him in time, three, that you can sneak in and out without being noticed, and four, that the opposition doesn't cripple or kill you."

"Gosh, that's encouraging…."

"I'm just trying to be realistic, okay? You're playing against a stacked deck, so you need to be careful on this one."

"Noted. But how are you going to track a cell phone?" Danny asked, bewildered.

"Don't you _ever _watch 'CSI' or 'NCIS'?" Tucker snorted. "Almost all cell phones these days have a GPS in embedded in their hardware to prevent theft. We find the phone, and we find Brody."

"Provided that he hasn't dropped it or that the bad guys haven't taken it," Sam put in.

"Or that it hasn't been turned off," Tucker agreed.

_I'm starting to feel uncomfortable about all this, _Danny thought to himself. _There are too many factors unaccounted for. _Aloud he said, "You've both got a point, but right now this is the best lead we have, so we'll just have to hope it works."

"Remember, Danny," Tucker continued, apparently conceding the point, "As much as I'd love to listen to you go to town on these guys, you can't afford to get caught up in a full-fledged brawl. Get in, get Brody, and get out, _quickly._ Otherwise they might have the audacity to sue you for home invasion or something."

"I'm aware of that," Danny replied, gritting his teeth in frustration. "Do you have the coordinates yet?"

"This isn't a Google map, dude," Tucker shrugged on the other end. "Before I can try to find Brody for you, I need a satellite to do it with. And seeing as how we're short of a million dollars to buy our own, we'll have to…_borrow_ one."

"You're going to steal a government tracking satellite?" Danny, though used to his friend's hacking skills, was aghast at the sheer nerve of such an idea. "That's pretty bold, even for you."

"Don't remind me," Tucker shuddered, his voice rising with anxiety over the sound of tapping keys. "I'll have about two and a half minutes to triangulate Brody's cell before someone in the Pentagon notices they've been hacked. When that happens, they'll try to trace the search back to its source: me."

"Which means you'd better have a good memory," Sam elaborated. "Because Tucker isn't going to be able to repeat himself on this one. We have one shot at locating Brody, _one, _so we _can't _afford to mess it up."

"Do you think he's okay?" Danny asked, wheeling a sharp right in mid-air as he swerved toward the downtown area. "I mean, they haven't...hurt him too badly, have they?"

"With people like that, there's no telling," Sam growled, directing her next remark at Tucker. "Time isn't on our side, so I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry the hell up."

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Tucker said irritably. "If you think you can do better, Sam, then why don't _you _try hacking into NASA and see how easy it is? Just hang on a second and let me dodge these firewalls..."

"_Today, _Tuck!" Danny couldn't keep the anxiety from his voice.

"Almost there…" The tip of Tucker's tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he intensified his concentration. "I need to override the security mainframe and temporarily disable the tracking cookie…There!"

"You done?"

"Yup. We now the proud owners of a U.S. orbital tracker. Now all I have to do is calibrate the tracking frequency to match that of Brody's phone."

"Better hurry," Sam bit her lip worriedly. "You've got three minutes and forty five seconds."

"How do you know the frequency of Brody's Blackberry?" Danny couldn't help but ask.

"I cloned it when he wasn't looking," Tucker admitted. "Illegal, I know, but I thought it might come in handy if things went sour. Turns out I was right."

"Less talk, more type," Danny murmured.

"Three minutes, twenty seconds."

"Don't pressure me, Sam!" Tucker hissed, his former good nature replaced by the urgency of the situation. "I think…I've almost…_Got it! I got it! I found Brody's phone!"_

"Where is it?"

"Thirty-five point six degrees south, and seventy-five point nine degrees west."

"Uh…"

"In layman's terms, turn left on Main Street and take a right," Tucker instructed, his voice teasing. "Keep going till you get to the Central District. It'll be the third house on the left, if my math is right. Which it always is, by the way."

"It makes sense, I guess," Sam admitted. "The Central District was practically abandoned years ago. Hardly anyone lives there anymore, so I guess it's a great place to hide out if you want to lay low. I heard my parents mention one time that the whole area is actually condemned, but apparently City Hall hasn't gotten around to bulldozing it yet."

Danny mouthed Tucker's directions silently a few times so as to commit them to memory. "Right."

"And remember…" his friend warned.

"I know, Tuck, I know, no punching anybody," Danny sighed. "Though I'd be lying if I said it wouldn't feel satisfying to bust these Society jerks in the face."

"You'll have other opportunities," Sam assured him.

"And so will Brody," Danny smirked. "As soon as he catches his breath, he's gonna call in every chip he has and _hunt these people down._"

"Maybe he'll finally get something on Skryme, too," Tucker's tone hopeful. "He's financing these guys, isn't he?"

"Brody thinks so, but so far Skryme's been really good at covering his tracks."

"Well, here's hoping that changes," Sam said viciously…

_Meanwhile…_

_1192 Parker Lane, Central District…._

Agent Thomas Brody, looking very much the worse for wear, rolled his tongue idly around in the bloody socket where a molar had formerly resided. Long, shallow cuts, only a small portion of the wounds he'd sustained while in the Society's custody, rand down the lengths of his arms and shredded the white Oxford shirt that he wore on his shoulders. His fractured jaw ached abominably, the side of his head was encrusted with coagulated blood, and his lip sported a jagged rip where it had been savagely torn open.

The wounds were neither overly serious nor life-threatening, however. Despite the colorful collection of bruises and lacerations that Brody had collected over the past few hours, his captors weren't trying to kill him, at least not yet. They needed information about Danny, that much had been made clear, and thus the injuries had been made not to kill or seriously incapacitate, but to hurt like hell.

For the moment, these fanatics needed Brody alive, as dead men were a notoriously unreliable source of information. The beatings would probably continue until the venerable agent cracked and told his abductors what they wanted to know.

_Then_ and only then would they probably do away with him to ensure he didn't squeal. Brody had seen it before: stuffed in the trunk of a car, taken out to the middle of nowhere, force to kneel, and then…

One shot to the back of the head at point-blank range, execution-style.

Needless to say, Brody now had _two _very good reasons for not talking: his loyalty to Fenton and his own interest in keeping himself alive.

Of course, he could only hold out against his interrogators for so long. It was only a matter of time before they grew frustrated with his obstinate refusal and decided to off him anyway. Brody could only hope that Fenton had noticed his absence by now and suspected foul play.

_Not that I expect the cavalry to come to my rescue anytime soon,_ Brody thought bitterly. _Fenton's good, but he's no FBI agent!_ _He's a fourteen-year-old kid with a million other things to worry about aside from __my __well-being. In all likelihood, he probably thinks I've gotten stuck in traffic or something._

The agent glanced at his belongings, strewn across a metal table just out of arm's reach. His Bureau-issued Blackberry lay tantalizingly close, almost taunting him as it lay there with its on/off switch glowing green in the dim light. _One moment, just one, and I could have a SWAT team pointing semi-automatics down these bastards' throats._

_Dammit all to hell,_ Brody cursed silently. _I should have known some dirtbag would get the drop on me one of these days. Looks like the old saying is true: for every cop, there's a bullet with his name on it…_

_Well, if they __do __decide to put me under, I'll make sure to spit in the face of whoever gets to pull the trigger,_ Brody vowed._ They may kill me, but I'm sure as hell not gonna take it lying down, by thunder!_

_At the same time…_

Danny suppressed a shudder as he cruised silently and stealthily among the dilapidated shacks and run-down houses that comprised the oldest and most decrepit area of Amity Park. One glance was enough to tell him in no uncertain terms why the Central District was scheduled for demolition: most of the buildings looked as though a soft breeze could blow them over like a house of cards.

"Creepy enough for you?" Tucker asked.

"Very funny," Danny retorted. "Can we get back on track, please?"

"Fine," Tucker, ever the humorist, shrugged in dismay as he sat at Danny's console. "You're still on course, according to the locator I gave you. Turn right when you get to the next intersection, and Brody's location will be on that street."

The little half-sphere on Danny's belt gave a small _beep_ as the ghost boy rounded the corner, and Tucker's voice grew shrill with excitement. "You're right on top of it!"

"I'm aware of that," Danny grinned in spite of himself at his friend's exuberance as he gently touched down in the middle of the conspicuously empty street. The entire block seemed to resemble a ghost town from a John Wayne movie, and with almost cinematic effect, a stray piece of yellowed newspaper swirled by Danny's ankles.

The young hero chanced a look upward at the particularly disreputable-looking building that Tucker's technological manipulations had led him to. If anything, it looked more like a haunted house out of a Scooby-Doo cartoon, and Danny suppressed a shudder as he made to phase through the cracked and chipped doorway.

Tucker's tone was a quiet whisper in his ear. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut communication at this point, Danny. The Society could have something that could pick up your equipment, so radio silence is a must from this point forward. You're on your own, now, dude. Good luck."

"I'll need it," Danny replied dryly, plucking out the earpiece and stowing it in his pocket. With ease borne of a year's practice, the young hero fizzled out of the visible spectrum and slid silently, like a moonlit shadow, into the heart of the enemy's lair.

He emerged into total darkness on the other side. Danny stopped momentarily, floating stock still just inches above the floor, and waited until his eyes adjusted to the sudden blackness. What he saw after his vision compensated for the lack of illumination was hardly encouraging; the floor was pitted with holes and seemed ready to collapse under even the slightest amount of pressure. There were no signs of life that Danny could see; a few articles of furniture that had been covered in dust-laden sheets, the tarnished remnants of a once-impressive crystal chandelier, and…

There. From down the hallway to Danny's left, he could just make out the distant light cast by a far-away candle. Turning momentarily visible, he went to follow its receding glow-

-Only to have his stomach seize in panic as he realized that the light was coming _toward_ him at an extremely rapid pace.

Danny's eyes widened with alarm as his brain spun. The hallway was too narrow for him to fly, and he no longer had enough time to go intangible; the candle and its wielder were almost upon him. At the last moment, just as the sound of human conversation reached his ears, Danny threw himself into an small alcove that had once been a closet and curled up into a ball underneath one of the shelves. The storage unit's door had long since rotted away, and as he waited for the inevitable, Danny could only pray that he had made himself small enough to escape his unwitting pursuer's notice.

The hall was now bathed in the dim orange lit cast by a solitary flame, and Danny's enhanced hearing could clearly make out the sound of conversation as two men, armed with ecto-weapons, continued what seemed to be a rather routine patrol of the premises.

What Danny next heard made him want to blast the two cultists into oblivion. _Never _had he wanted to clobber anyone so _badly._ It was only with Herculean effort that Danny kept himself from exploding from his hiding place in vengeful fury; over and over, he reminded himself that violence against the Society would hardly help his public image.

"Has the traitor seen the Light?" the first man asked.

"No," the second replied. "He repeatedly refuses to be enlightened, unfortunately. Despite our…efforts…to loosen his tongue, Brody remains obstinate in the face of Truth. Even his confinement below has failed to persuade him."

"Shall we dispose of him, then? Brody seems to be more trouble than he's worth."

"Not yet. Only when Leader gives us the word will Brody be punished for betraying humanity to the Dark One."

"Indeed. The Light be praised!"

"Amen!"

Danny hardly dared to breathe as the footsteps of his foes gradually receded, and only when he was absolutely sure that the last echoes of their hateful talk had vanished into the darkness did he dare to peek out of his hiding place. _Well, that was just a little too close for comfort_, he thought, turning invisible once more. _I think it'd probably be better if I didn't take any more chances. But at least now I know Brody's being held in one of the lower levels, probably the basement._

A sneaky grin crossed Danny's face as he began to sink through the floor, and the rusted wiring, rotted wood and corroding air vents passed harmlessly through his body whilst he descended through each successive level of the crumbling structure. With scarcely a ripple of wind to denote his presence, the invisible and intangible Danny slipped past the Society's guards with all the stealth of a trained infiltrator. At one point, Danny came within three feet of several goons gathered around a high-stakes poker game, and yet so silent and swift was he that the enemy never knew he was there.

Danny's clothes would have begun to grow soaked with mildew, fungus and stale water as he grew closer to the subterranean chamber, had he not rid himself of solidity first. Leaky water pipes, corroded from decades of neglect, would have doused him with a constant stream of trickling water, and the variety of mold and mildew that clung to every surface would have latched onto his person like parasites. The further the young hero descended into the depths, the more wet and cold the environment became, until it appeared as though he had broken into a man-made cave rather than an abandoned residence. Sounds of human habitation faded away, to be replaced by the scurrying and scuttling of insects and vermin, and Danny suppressed a shudder as he felt some creepy-crawly pass through his stomach.

Danny's feet passed through yet another level of the crumbling building, and he was jolted once more into sensory high alert as he realized that he'd reached his destination. Slowly, cautiously, Danny planted his feet onto the ground, feeling the damp soak into his shoes, and his heart thudded deafeningly in his ears as adrenaline began to course through his veins.

Once more, Danny stood absolutely still, almost afraid to move even a muscle as he strove to determine whether or not he was alone down here. Relief washed over him as only the sounds of squeaking mice and rustling roaches greeted his silent inquiry, and after working up the courage to speak, Danny opened his mouth.

"Brody?" he called hoarsely.

In the darkness, a shape, seemingly seated in a ruined chair, stirred slightly and emitted a coarse, heavy groan. "Fenton? That you?"

"Yes."

"'Bout damn time you showed up. What the hell took you so long?"

Danny's feet practically moved themselves as he rushed to his friend's aid, his heart soaring in relief over the fact that Brody was indeed still among the living. Even hearing Brody's naturally blunt speech and tendency to swear was enormously comforting; if Brody had acted otherwise, something would have been _seriously_ wrong with him.

"Glad to see you're okay," Danny grinned hugely, grabbing Brody by the arm and phasing him through his bonds.

Brody, due to the variety of wounds he'd sustained, almost collapsed until Danny put one of the agent's lacerated arms over his shoulder. "Do I…_look_ okay to you, kid? Jesus, I feel like a karate master's practice dummy! Get my stuff from that table over there, would you? There's no way in hell I'm letting these wackos keep my piece as a trophy."

Danny gingerly passed the agent his Sig Sauer, still in its holster, and Brody sighed in relief as the firearm's familiar weight hung once more from its belt. "Lemme call this in," he muttered out of the side of his mouth, reaching for his Blackberry. "In five minutes, this place will be swarming with cops."

"No."

"I must have wax in my ears. _What _did you say?"

"We now know the location of at least one of the Society's hangouts," Danny whispered rapidly. "If you send them running now, they'll find a new hiding place. Why not let this one go, so we can use it to our advantage? A few well-placed bugs in the wall, and we can stay one step ahead of them.'

"_Now _you're starting to think like a Fed," Brody smirked. "And as much as I'd like to put these bastards away for good, you've got a point. A small victory now would make little difference at this point in the game."

"There'll be another day to take them down," Danny assured him.

"Damn right there will," Brody snarled. "No one's gotten the drop on me in over two decades! I've got a reputation to uphold, for Christ's sake!"

At that particular moment, a cloud of dust was suddenly and quite abruptly dislodged from the ceiling above Danny and Brody's heads. The steady rhythm of footsteps was utterly unmistakable, and Brody clutched Danny's arm with what remained of his strength.

"Get us out of here!" he hissed.

"Already on it," Danny muttered back, his ghostly abilities promptly turning himself and his friend unnoticeable to the naked eye. With a leap and a bound, the ghost boy, with the injured Brody in tow, soared up through the floor at mind-numbing speed. Urgency replaced stealth as Danny felt blood stain the sleeve of his jumpsuit, and he threw caution to the winds as he rocketed through the ceiling and out into the cool evening sky.

Both the ghost boy and Brody had vanished by the time the agent's captors had opened the door.

A/N: YAY! Success! But what dastardly plan will the society come up with next? Will Danny and his friends be able to bring down Skryme for good? And will the ghost boy ever win the trust of those he strives to protect? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	12. Chapter 12

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 12: Brief Respite! The Calm Before the Storm!

_(Before you read any further, I want to apologize for this abnormally short chapter. My aunt, with whom I was very close, died on Sunday after a life-long battle with breast cancer, so needless to say it's kind of melancholy over here at my place. With such grief hanging over me, I fear my inspiration to write has somewhat dried up for the moment; with luck, I will feel much better after the funeral on Thursday. Needless to say, I'm not at my creative best right now, so I do apologize if this chapter is somewhat under-par. I'll go back and fix it if that is the case, I assure you. T__hank you all for your understanding during this hard time for me and my family. God bless.)_

_Prologue_

_Washington, D.C_

_CRASH!_

_With a sweep of his arm, an infuriated ex-Major Andrew Skryme sent a sheaf of papers and a variety of other workplace detritus sliding to the floor with a great cacophony of noise. His face was so red with fury that one could have roasted a hot dog upon his chin, and the rat-faced villain's ugly features were contorted with barely controlled rage as he listened to the speaker on the other end of the phone line._

"_What do you _mean _Brody escaped?" he snarled viciously into the receiver. "I practically hand you the man on a silver platter and you STILL MANAGE TO SCREW IT UP? What on EARTH IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?"_

_Skryme's breathing came rapid and harsh as the person on the other phone tried to sputter an excuse. "Oh, so he just vanished, is that it? You tie him up in a basement in a part of town no one ever goes to, post guards at the door around the clock, and he… just… __vanished__? How does someone do that, anyway, huh? Answer me!"_

"…_It was probably the ghost child, you bubble-headed idiot," Skryme hissed after another moment of terse silence. "Only he could slip in and out unnoticed, which, by the way, could have been avoided if you'd taken two seconds to learn how to properly manage the anti-ghost security that I PAID FOR! Do you have any idea what this will do to my-__our-__plans? If Brody didn't have an excuse to go sticking his fat nose where it doesn't belong, he sure as hell does now! What if he is able to finger his captors in a line-up? What if he remembers where the base is located? You could have SWAT teams on your doorstep by morning, OR WORSE! Do you have any idea how much a base like that costs?"_

"…_Oh, I see, you wore __masks__ when you abducted and interrogated him, is that it?" Skryme continued snidely. "Well, that's __real fucking original__! Any ordinary street thug or bank robber could have thought of that! Haven't you ever heard of voice ID, nitwit? Now get your ass back there and move all personnel and equipment to a new location, or so help me I'll come over there and end you myself! I lead the Society! I am the LIGHT! AND I DO NOT TOLERATE FAILURE!"_

_The embittered ex-soldier slammed the phone back onto its hook with far more force than was necessary, and after taking a few deep breaths, Skryme's watery, shifty eyes shone with pure, undiluted malice._

"_God damn you, Danny Fenton…"_

_Amity Park…_

The first thing that went through Thomas Brody's mind as he regained his senses was _Ow._ This exclamation was followed by several moments of unthinkable obscenity, the likes of which would have made even the most hardened sailor blush. The agent's eyes, flecked the silver flakes that were a telltale sign of oncoming nearsightedness, moved like roulette balls in their sockets as the old cop reassured himself that he was indeed back in the Fenton domicile. Brody's beloved Sig Sauer lay just out of reach, an object of comfort almost like a child's teddy bear, and his fingers scrabbled against the table as he tried to grasp his old weapon.

"You awake?"Danny's voice roused Brody from what remained of his grogginess as the ghost boy stuck his head through the door.

"Yeah, for what it's worth," Brody snorted back. "Is there any grub to eat around here?"

"Way ahead of you," Danny grinned, producing a plate of toast and eggs from behind his back. "Mom figured you'd be hungry when you woke up, so she made this for you."

"Bless her heart," Brody wiped away an imaginary tear. "That's awfully decent of her. It's just the sort of thing my second ex-wife would have done."

"Your _second_ ex-wife?" Danny raised an eyebrow with amusement. "Do I even want to know?"

"She ran off with some biker punk, okay?" Brody snapped, his usual bad humor returning as he gulped down some orange juice.

"Do you need some Advil or something?"

"I feel like a gorilla's been using me for boxing practice, kid. Of course I need Advil. And Vicodin. And Tylenol. And whatever else you happen to have."

_Welcome back, Brody,_ Danny thought, grinning inwardly with relief that his friend's cantankerous nature hadn't deserted him completely.

"So what about the Society?" Brody asked. "Did you bug the place like I asked you to?"

"Yup," Tucker answered the inquiry as he joined Danny in the living room. "We now have eyes and ears within the Society, though I don't know if that'll do us much good if they move that particular base to another location. And that's also assuming that they don't pick up the bugs, too. The Society probably has the equipment to do that, with all the resources they seem to have at their disposal."

"Meaning that any info we happen to pick up will be more from luck than from anything else."

"Yup."

"P'TACK!" Brody spat.

Danny glanced at him. "What does _that _mean?"

"It's Klingon. Means 'shit.'"

Tucker, as a Star Trek fan himself, split into a grin that was wider than a peeled banana. "You speak Klingon?"

"Not fluently, but yes. Ma was a Trekkie and she made me watch the stupid show all the time. Needless to say, I picked up a few things."

"Nice."

"Moving on," Danny said impatiently. "What do we do _now?_ We know the Society came after Brody, we have a suspect as to who is leading them…now we just need proof."

"That's the hardest part," Brody scratched his rear as he sat up. "I keep telling you guys, Skryme covers his tracks well. I doubt we'll be able to catch him doing anything criminal."

"Why not nab one of his underlings and squeeze _him _for information?" Tucker asked.

"I'm not going to stoop to the Society's level unless all other options have been exhausted," Brody said firmly. "And with my escape, the Society is going to be on high alert for the next week or so. We wait for things to quiet down, and _then _we make our next move. If anything, the Society is going to be more paranoid than ever; we need to let them feel secure and over confident. Trust me, Danny, I've had years of experience to learn: Overconfident criminals are careless criminals. Careless criminals are convicted criminals. The logic is flawless."

Danny tried to hide a shudder as Brody's cold, calculating nature came to the fore. It was a side of the agent that he'd become all too familiar with during his days on the run, and that thought in turn brought up all sorts of unpleasant memories. "So I should just let them keep trying to ruin my life and wait till they slip up, is that your plan, Brody?"

"Hate to say it, kid, but yeah. Just stand up and take your lumps, and we'll get them eventually."

"I _hate _that plan."

"I know," Brody grinned ruefully. "But don't give up. The Society can't fool people with their lies for long."

"They seem to be doing a good job so far," Danny hissed venomously. "If only we could just _end _these people and be done with it!"

"That's your anger talking, not your senses," Tucker warned. "You can't let them get to you, Danny."

The ghost boy flinched visibly as he remembered Clockwork's warning. "R-right," he stammered, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door as his cognitive functions threatened to go offline. "Well, time for school, I guess."

"You really _must _be out of it," Brody snickered. "It's Saturday."

"It is? ALL RIGHT!" Danny shouted, pumping his fist in the air in anticipation of not having to endure the scorn of his peers.

"Thank heavens for small mercies, eh?" Tucker grinned. "Why don't you and Sam go to the mall or something? After all," he added slyly, "she _is_ your girlfriend, and this whole thing with the Society has cut into your time with her."

"Oh, my God! You're right!" Danny's face grew panicked as he rushed for the phone. "I'll call her right now!"

Brody watched him go as he sank wearily back onto the sofa. "I drink my weight in coffee every day," he grumbled, "and I _still_ can't get _that _much energy…"


	13. Chapter 13

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

_"The power of the Enemy...is growing."-Galadriel, "Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers" (2002)_

Chapter 13: Love and Lasers

The Amity Park Shopping Center was, to be frank, the last place in the world Danny Fenton would have expected to take his girlfriend Sam on a date.

Through the subtle encouragement of his friend Tucker, Danny had rushed over to Sam's house with the misconception that the Manson girl had grown to resent the way that the Society's machinations and life in general had cut in to her ability to spend time with him. True, Danny may have overreacted somewhat (for his unnaturally panicked response to Tucker's proclamation was out-of-character with his usually easygoing nature), but the stress of returning to public life, as well as Brody's abduction and subsequent rescue, had run Danny positively ragged and thus elicited a more emotional response from him than was typical. Sam, to her credit, had positively guffawed upon seeing Danny's distress, and it took several moments of soothing words and gentle kisses for her to reassure him that she was in no way feeling neglected or unwanted.

Danny, though relieved, had nevertheless almost fiercely insisted on taking Sam with him for a social outing. He did not say as much, but Sam guessed at how ragged his nerves had become over the past few days, and thus concluded that a few hours of fun would do Danny a world of good. If anyone on God's green earth needed a proverbial break, it was he.

Of course, the fact remained that this was still technically Danny's _first _date, and, consequently, he had no idea what he was doing. And though the mall was not his first choice, it had been high on Sam's list of priorities; though tough-as-nails and fiercely protective, his girlfriend very much enjoyed shopping, though her tastes were somewhat…_different_ than those of other young women her age. Rather than glancing over the racks in Liz Claiborne or GAP, Sam instead anticipated a happy afternoon browsing the shelves of GameStop and Hot Topic.

Danny, in contrast, disliked the mall as a general rule. The place was packed with people, loud, and chaotic, and the occasional pickpocket or shady-looking vendors enhanced Danny's distaste.

After his exposure, however, Danny now found the people that herded around him like groups of buffalo to be almost a blessing in disguise. With his face on the news and in every paper, it was much harder for those who wished to ogle at him to pick Danny's profile out in a crowd. It worked almost as a buffer against the media that constantly hounded him, a constantly moving human shield, and thus it was here that Danny and Sam could enjoy the simple pleasure of each other's company in relative peace.

Danny's nostrils quivered as his sneakers squeaked and slid on the scuffed floor underfoot, an armada of smells and sounds assailing his sensory organs as he clutched Sam's hand in his. From the food court came the smell of fresh pretzels and burgers sizzling on the grill, of Chinese takeout and steaming-hot pizza piled high with searing-hot mozzarella. From the shops one could smell the sweetness of a hundred different brands of expensive perfumes, and these mingled jarringly with the reek of the chlorine and disinfectant that the janitorial staff sprayed everywhere. A thousand simultaneous conversations combined to create a constant droning not unlike that of a massive bumblebee, and a cheerful smile that had long been absent from Danny's features now returned in full force as Sam caught his eye playfully.

Danny rubbed the nape of his neck nervously, racking his brain so as to find some reference material as to what a young man should say in such situations. "So, uh, do you want to…play video games or something?" he asked, inwardly slapping himself and cringing for sounding like such an amateur.

Sam felt a tingle of excitement all the way down to her toes, and a wave of affection for him washed over her as she saw how nervous and anxious he was to make her happy. Danny was obviously taking the role of "boyfriend" quite seriously, and the fact that he cared so much about her made Sam's heart speed up ever so slightly. _ He's so sweet, _the Goth thought, smiling to herself, but aloud she replied, "Depends."

"On what?"

A challenging smile split her face in twain. "On whether or not you think you can beat me."

"I _absolutely_ think I can beat you," Danny smirked back, beginning to relax as the tension of the past few days began to lift from his young shoulders. "No one plays 'Street Fighter' better than me."

"Wanna bet?"

"I most certainly do."

"Fine, but if you lose, you're buying me lunch," Sam warned him playfully. "And I don't order cheap food."

"In that case, I think I'll go to the bathroom first," Danny's gaze was lovestruck. "I don't want any distractions holding me back."

"Just goes to show that those Super-Glugs come back to haunt you quicker than you think," Sam laughed. "Hurry, okay? The urge to thrash you and mop the floor with your tears is getting overwhelming."

Danny's eyes never left hers as he vanished inside the men's room. _She is _so _cute when she talks like that,_ he thought, grinning foolishly as all men do when hopelessly infatuated. So great, in fact, was Sam's effect on Danny's cognitive functions that he ended up passing right _through _the door.

The distraction would prove costly, however.

Neither Danny nor Sam noticed the shadowy observer that, several feet away, glanced ominously over the top of his newspaper…

_Much Later…_

Danny's face looked almost sullen as he followed a very smug Sam Manson from the dark and noisy old-fashioned arcade. He was still quite stunned at just how _thoroughly_ his girlfriend had defeated him in cyberspace…for the fifty-sixth time. Sam had utterly thrashed him, despite his display of bravado earlier, and now a somewhat disgruntled Danny was bound to treat her to a lavish lunch that would surely deplete the number of bills in his wallet.

"You cheated," Danny muttered, though there was no malice in his words.

"I did not," Sam defended herself with equally false vigor. "It isn't _my _fault that you suck at gaming."

"I do _not_ suck!"

"I have fifty-six good reasons that tell me otherwise," Sam retorted, tapping her finger on his nose and half-turning as she did so. Danny followed her gaze-

-And, upon glancing back the way they had come, the ghost boy did _not _like what he saw. Realization hit him like the .22 slug that had punched through his shoulder a month previously, and Danny gave a nervous twitch as worry, not for himself, but for Sam, made his gut wrench.

Danny had a _bad_ feeling about all of this, and if Brody's example was any indication, the young hero knew that one should trust his gut in such situations.

Though he had only a single hunch to go on, a suspicion that could likely be a mere coincidence, Danny instinctively _knew._

He and Sam were being followed.

She instantly noticed the flash of distress that rippled across his face, and the carefree atmosphere that had thus far pervaded her outing with Danny dissipated like sobriety in a booze factory. "What's wrong?" Sam murmured.

Danny clutched her hand tightly, making an effort to appear oblivious to the stalker that had, until now, remained under his radar. "See the man on the bench, outside the arcade?"

"The guy reading the paper? What about him?"

"Does he look familiar?"

"Should he?" Sam made no attempt to hide her confusion.

"He was also outside the parking lot when we got here," Danny elaborated, "And, now that I think about it, he was also outside the restroom a while ago before we went to the gaming room. I think he's following us!"

"Is he one of the Society?" Sam murmured, scarcely moving her lips. "Maybe he was there when you rescued Brody! Have you seen him before?"

"No idea," Danny admitted. "Maybe I _have _seen him before, but I can't be sure. It was too dark in that base to see much of anything. In any case, I think it's better to play it safe; let's just walk away, _casually, _and see if we can lose him."

"What if he gets up?"

"Then I turn invisible and we get the heck out of here. I'd rather not use my powers in front of so many people, obviously, but I'd rather that than put you at risk. The Society isn't afraid to hurt people; they almost got Brody already. I'd sooner shove myself into the Fenton Thermos than let them even get _near _you, Sam." _And this afternoon was going so well, _Danny added mournfully, crying on the inside. _Why does this kind of thing always happen at the least convenient of times? Is the entire universe conspiring just to keep me from being alone with her?_

"R-right," Sam's tone trembled a little as the dire nature of the potential threat dawned upon her. "Let's go, then."

"Don't even glance at him," Danny advised. "Trust me: when you're trying to lose someone without that person knowing it, you should _never_ look them in the eye or even _hint _that you're on to him."

"Did Brody teach you that?"

"In a way," the ghost boy's smile was bitter as he took her by the arm and slowly began moving in the other direction.

The stalker's eyes followed their every move, but he made no attempt to pursue them. Instead, his hand inched toward a certain device that was concealed within the lining of his blazer.

From within the pocket's confines, a miniature spy camera _clicked._

A grim smile of satisfaction graced the stranger's face, despite the fact that he'd lost the young couple within the milling herds of packed humanity. The man made one last, desperate attempt to locate Fenton. His sharp, hawk-like eyes narrowed as he searched for his quarry from the comfort of his bench-

-But the only trace of Danny Fenton that he could find was a flash of raven hair before it disappeared completely.

This was not a metaphor. Danny, in a flash of inspiration, had ducked into a nearby alcove and phased from the visible spectrum altogether. Sam, per his instructions, had begun walking in step at a convincing angle to _another_ black-haired boy so as to fool their pursuer. Unseen and unnoticed, Danny floated above the bobbing heads of his fellow man and made landfall, without a sound, not five feet away from the back of the stranger's head.

The pig-like squeal that the man let out as Danny's arm suddenly wrapped around his throat was actually somewhat satisfying.

"Why are you following us?" the ghost boy whispered, knowing full well that it would only be a matter of moments before someone noticed that he had strong-armed the man by his windpipe. "Who are you? Tell me!"

"Argagghhh…" the older fellow gurgled, clawing at his throat.

Danny saw the problem and relaxed for only a moment, allowing his prisoner just enough air to speak.

"My name's…_hukkk…_ Sims," the stalker whispered hoarsely. "Paul… Sims."

"Are you with the Society?" Danny hissed, tightening his grip again like a vise.. "Speak!"

"_Glargggh…._No, Jesus, no, I'm not!" Sims cried, now genuinely afraid as the slightest tinge of blue crept into his cheeks. "I'm…reporter…for the _Amity Herald! _I wanted…_hu-k-k-k…_a scoop on the personal life of…_Aiieeerrrggh!"_

The hapless man writhed like a snake, his tongue waggling furiously as Danny's elbow tightened around his windpipe, much harder than before. Anger long repressed threatened to boil over and tinged the ghost boy's vision red at the sheer _indignity_ of it all: this man had been trying to intrude upon the most private and cherished part of Danny's personal life!

"Get out," he hissed. "And I swear to God, if you come near me or Sam again I'll break you in two."

"_Glark-k-k! Y-yes!" _Tears of terror streamed down Sims' face as he nodded like a bobble-head. The reporter was partially convinced that Danny was about to snap his neck like kindling.

But the ghost boy had no such intentions. With a savage wrench he freed the pinioned Sims from his clutches, and before he could glance around again, Danny had once more vanished from sight.

The camera, however, remained.

_Epilogue_

_Paul Sims' throat was bruising rapidly as he glanced furtively over his shoulder. With blatant disregard to the sign that designated the alley behind the mall for "Employees Only," Sims slipped through the back exit and found himself standing in the dingy lane that separated Amity Mall from its business competitors on either side. A piece of newspaper swirled among Sims' ankles as his shoes crunched on the gravel, and his pudgy face now looked somewhat malevolent as he opened his mouth to speak._

"_I've got it," he said aloud, seemingly to no one in particular._

_From the shadows that cloaked the adjacent walls, a second man, his face hidden beneath the high collar of his coat, smiled in satisfaction._

"_Our bargain?" Sims demanded. "I don't work for free; that cover identity was expensive!"_

"_True enough," the other man agreed, handing over a slender envelope stuffed to the brim with Ben Franklins. "You seem a bit worse for wear, though."_

"_The kid was on to me," the "reporter" snarled. "I'm lucky he didn't tear my head off."_

"_Does he suspect?"_

"_Nah, he bought it like a sale at Macy's," Sims' evil smile mirrored his companion's as he fished the camera out of his lapel. _

"_I thought you actually _did_ work for a newspaper," the shadow man arched an eyebrow._

"_I _did,_" Sims growled, "before I got fired for hacking into some guy's email to get a story."_

"_That's just the sort of originality we need. Should you seek more…__meaningful__employment, I'm sure the Light will have need of your services."_

"_Sounds good to me. I don't care about personal boundaries as long as I get paid. I make three times my old annual salary each month working for you guys."_

"_And now, thanks to your, ah, unorthodox methods, we now know the Dark Child's greatest weakness. The girl is his Achilles heel; it was a mistake to target the agent first."_

"_You want me to go after her, then? I could break into her house or something."_

"_No. Our Order is already at risk of being compromised now that the ghost child has discovered the location of one of our bases. Now is the time to prepare for our next crusade, to rest, regroup, and resupply."_

"_The kid didn't bug you, did he?" Sims asked nervously._

"_Of course he did," the stranger laughed softly. "He wants to gather information…so we might decide to give him some. Faulty intelligence, naturally, but he'll never know the difference until it's too late."_

"_Well played. So did I make the cut or not?"_

_The ominous figure extended his hand. "You most certainly did. Welcome to the Society, Mr. Sims. Come into the Light…"_

A/N: THAT BASTARD! I _knew _Sims seemed like more than he claimed to be! What will happen now that his photos are in enemy hands? What vile plot does the Society of Light have in mind? And will Danny EVER get a moment alone with Sam? Find out in coming chapters! As always, PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have ANY ideas or suggestions on how I can make this story more enjoyable, LET ME KNOW! YOUR OPINION COUNTS! ^^

Finally, on a more personal note, I wish to send my humblest and most sincere thanks to all of you who wrote in to express your condolences following my last update. Your letters were a source of happiness and comfort in a time of great sorrow for me, and your words of caring were at the forefront of my mind as we laid Aunt Janice to rest in the family plot. The outpouring of compassion and understanding has earned you all my undying gratitude, and thus I wish to say thank you, ALL of you, for giving me the privilege of having such warm and caring readers to write for.

God bless each and every single one of you.

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	14. Chapter 14

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."-Master Yoda, "Star Wars: Episode VI: Return of the Jedi" (1980)_

Chapter 14: Crossing the Line, Part 1

_Three hours ago…_

_Three blocks from the Manson household…_

_Sam's face was as cheery as a Christmas wreath as her heavy combat boots clomped loudly on the cracked, weed-infested sidewalk upon which she trod. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of zeal and zest for life that only a youth in love could have, and an extra skip in her step further denoted her almost unnaturally cheery demeanor. Her shadow grew long under the street lamps that illuminated the city block in their dim yellow glow, and as the Goth turned a corner, the last vestiges of the vibrant sunset dissipated from the clouds overhead. Night was falling fast, but this fact was lost upon Danny's girlfriend as she went merrily along her way._

_Over an hour after she'd shyly kissed Danny goodbye outside the entrance to the Amity Park Mall, her nerves were still tingling with that curious, pleasant fire she'd come to enjoy. Her skin felt alive where he'd held her, where his lips had been, and for the millionth time in a row Sam mentally chided herself for taking so damn long to kick-start her relationship with Danny. Only he could make her feel this way, only he could make Sam's normally firm and resolute resolve crumble like a used Kleenex, and it was to him, and to him alone, that her strong heart belonged._

_Danny was her whole world, and she was his. How could Sam have possibly been blind and stupid enough to deny her feelings for him? Even now, Sam knew, in spite of all the trials he had thus far endured, Danny's sense of duty and resolve held fast. He held his own life meaningless compared to those of his friends and family, and Sam knew that, if worse came to worse, Danny would fight a thousand men a thousand times to protect her._

_And for all these things, her love for him blossomed like the most rare and beautiful of flowers. Love, that intangible thing that had inspired artisans and men of letters for uncounted centuries turned the blood to fire in Sam's veins. This wondrous, extraordinary, special thing that transcended the boundaries of life and death itself, was what filled her thoughts of him. Love, innocent, precious, and as pure as the most flawless gemstone, had bound the two of them together as it had bound man and woman for time immemorial. The intimate connection that Danny and Sam now shared was so bright that it outshone the sun on a midsummer's noon, and she now knew, with every fiber of her being, that Danny was the only one in the world for her._

_Sam's mind grew far away in a girlish manner that was most uncharacteristic of her. Flashes of the afternoon that the couple had shared in the corridors of the Amity mall deluged Sam's brain, and as she slipped under the gate of the rich neighborhood where her house was located, an almost foolish grin suffused her face._

_Love, it seemed, clouded the senses like some massive aphrodisiac._

_Consequently, Sam was caught totally unawares as several men, clad in black burglar's masks and carrying a variety of crude implements, materialized out of the darkness and fell upon her like rabid wolves. The thick sole of a boot drove the breath from Sam's body as it slammed into her back, and the last conscious thing she saw was a brutish-looking thug grinning over her, a metal wrench in his hand._

"_Give this message to that freakjob you go 'round screwin'," he sneered. "Them Society folks ain't the only ones willin' t'do what it takes to keep our families safe from ghost-freaks like him!"_

_Then the makeshift weapon descended, and Sam Manson knew no more._

_Now…_

In the painstakingly sterilized and utterly silent atmosphere of the Amity Park General Hospital's waiting room, Danny Fenton sat with a face of stone and white-knuckled fists. Time seemed to slow to a snail's pace as his broken heart thundered in a chest heavy with grief, and unshed tears blurred his vision as a monstrous wave of sorrow and misery threatened to drown him in his own anguish.

At last, his worst fears had been brutally realized in the most barbaric and savage way imaginable. Sam, his precious Sam, had borne the brunt of the bigotry that Skryme had heaped upon the young hero, and now Danny's girlfriend had very nearly paid the ultimate price for her fidelity.

Danny did not even need to _glance _at Sam's mother and father to know that they held him personally responsible for their daughter's predicament. Their quiet, burning and baleful gaze spoke more clearly than any word that could have been uttered aloud. It would be a wonder if they even let him _near _Sam when this was over.

And yet, though Danny's grief was great and his heart torn in twain, his soul-wrenching despair was, augmented and, with each passing moment, being eclipsed by something more great and terrible than Danny had ever felt before. No matter how bottomless his sorrow, nothing on Earth could compare to that fell and terrifying thing that began to consume Danny from the inside out.

Danny felt anger at Sam's assailants on a level that he'd never experienced before, an unstoppable and merciless fury that he could not control. The ghost boy's entire body _shook_ with the force of his wrath, his fingers splintering and cracking the wooden arm of the chair in which he was seated, and his fury roiled and swirled within his once-gentle heart with all the cold, pitiless strength of a howling winter gale. The ectoplasm in Danny's cells _burned_ with an unshakeable, unquenchable, all-consuming desire to make these thugs curse bitterly the day they were born! He wanted, lusted, _needed_ to see their terrified faces contort with agony, to hear their screams and pleas for a mercy that was not forthcoming, and to _feel _the hot, burning spray of their blood as he tore them to pieces with nothing more than his bare hands. Danny hungered for vengeance like a ravenous vampire, and the satisfaction he longed to feel as he reveled in his revenge would be as sweet as a rare wine. Stronger than a might hurricane, more mindless and savage than a jungle beast, and more unstoppable than a steam train was Danny Fenton now, and as his longing for revenge gnawed at his heart, he slowly began to turn into a dark, twisted reflection of what he once had been.

The expression of Dr. Dourman, the Fenton family position, was grave as he exited the doors of the surgical ward that bore his name. The small group that had congregated there, Sam's parents among them, looked as thoroughly downtrodden as the countless other families and loved ones whose relatives had gone under Dourman's knife. The doctor took a moment to remove his bloodied gloves and stuff them in the pocket of his equally soiled, lead-lined apron.

Dourman seemed to age a thousand years as he wearily whipped off his glasses. "Multiple fractures of the ribs, multiple contusions and extensive bruising, the left wrist broken in two places and what I suspect may be a mildly severe concussion. Ms. Manson, it seems, has been quite savagely assaulted. I trust you have already filed a report with the police department?"

"Yes," Danny Fenton, his face drawn and as pale as a corpse, whispered in a voice so low that Dourman had to strain to hear him. "But they won't have anything to go on until Sam gives them a description."

"Will she recover?" Mrs. Manson asked tearfully, taking a moment to shoot Danny a glance of utmost loathing.

"It will take…time," Dourman admitted. "In all honesty, the situation could have been a lot worse; a few more strikes to the head and her brain could have hemorrhaged. If that had happened, the nature of Ms. Manson's condition would have been much, _much_ more dire. But now I daresay she'll recover, given enough time and bed rest. I've moved her to the ICU for now. She won't be awake for quite some time, however, so I would suggest you all go home and at least _try _to get some sleep."

"Not likely," Tucker whispered under his breath as the entourage turned to leave as one. He opened his mouth to speak again, but any thoughts of verbal communication were quashed as Tucker beheld a vengeful Danny in all his terrible glory. The ghost boy seemed to _ooze_ ill intent, his head bowed and his palms bleeding where his nails had cut into the skin. Danny's fingertips glowed with eldritch energy as his knuckles threatened to break, and Tucker realized then that his old friend was _not_ in the mood to talk to _anyone._

A bolt of fear flashed through Tucker's body. He'd _never _seen Danny like _this_ before.

His pace quickened as he made his exit, leaving the hybrid alone with his dark and brooding thoughts.

_They hurt Sam._

_They almost killed her._

_They targeted her to get to __me._

_They went too far. They crossed the line._

_And now __I'm__ about to cross it, too._

_I don't care who's responsible or where they try to hide._

_I don't care __what __I have to do or __who__ gets in my way!_

_On Sam's life, I swear I will __hunt them down…_

For a moment, young Danny's eyes glowed a piercing _red-_

_**And I will KILL them.**_

A/N: Oh, crap. That's really all I can say. I think Danny might have been pushed too far this time.

And PLEASE REVIEW. I only got, like, four last time and I am always anxious for feedback and advice from my readers. Don't be shy, people! If you've got any ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	15. Chapter 15

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

_(A/N: Just so you guys know, the music "Anakin's Dark Deeds" from Star Wars: Episode III goes REALLY well with the epilogue of this chapter. Seriously, you should open a new tab and load it up before you read any further; it'll really enhance and set the mood that I'm trying to convey. Again, the song is "Anakin's Dark Deeds," and you can find it on Youtube by a user named "ViktorKrum10x." Seriously, it goes with the epilogue PERFECTLY. ^^_)

Chapter 15: Crossing the Line, Part Two

_Amity Park__, 4:00 A.M_

Paul Sims, the ex-journalist of dubious morality, whistled merrily to himself as he turned the key in the lock of his brand-new house. The solid paycheck he'd received from shadowing the Fenton kid had been enough for Sims to move out of his dingy motel room and into a brand-new five-star neighborhood that cost more than most working-class folks made annually. That he had violated Danny's privacy to do it meant little to Sims; all he knew was that, for once in his corrupt and duplicitous life, he was riding the gravy train.

The key-card slot in the door handle flashed green as Sims turned the handle lazily, and upon stepping inside his domicile he took a moment to sigh happily before reaching to flip the lights on.

The switch clicked obediently, but to the man's momentary astonishment, nothing happened.

"Oh, come _on,_" Sims growled, fumbling around in the darkness. "You'd think the wiring would be better with all the rent I'm paying. Where'd I put the phone…?"

Sims bent over the kitchen counter, his fingers scrabbling on the marble in a vain search for the missing device, and with a sigh of exasperation he stood-

-Only to nearly faint with terror as two eyes, crimson like a sunset after a heavy rain, stared balefully back at him with scarcely contained fury.

"Don't bother," a voice said quietly, its tone calm but its words laden with a thinly veiled threat. "I already disconnected it."

Sims fell flat on his rump with sudden, adrenalized terror, and he skittered like a beetle across the marble floor in his haste to elude this terrible apparition. "OH, GOD! What are you? _Who _are you? Why are you doing th-"

"You know who it is," the voice murmured back. "You followed me…_us…_at the mall yesterday. Who are you working for?"

The former journalist gasped with consternation as the identity of the invader dawned upon him, and as fear spawned in his belly, Sims' natural cowardice resurfaced with a vengeance. He sank to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut, blubbering as he pleaded his innocence. "I told you, I'm just a report-_H-u-u-uk…"_

A hand of iron suddenly grabbed Sims by the throat and lifted him clear off of his feet, and the ghost boy's face never wavered as he felt the reporter's windpipe threaten to snap like kindling. The man began to turn purple, his legs thrashing as oxygen deprivation set in, and Danny's eyes burned like the fires of Hell as he stared his stalker down.

"_Liar,"_ he hissed. _"You're working for __them..."_

Sims' eyes rolled back into his head as he clawed at his neck, and Danny remained coldly indifferent to his suffering as he grated through clenched teeth, _"You might as well come out and admit it…otherwise we might find out how many bones I have to __break__ to loosen your tongue. I could crush you like a soda can right here and right now if I wanted to, Sims. It'd be easy…__like breaking a toothpick__…"_

Sims gasped in enough air to work his vocal cords for a second or two. "Okay! Okay! You're right! I _was _working for them, but I had no idea that they'd –_U-k-k-k…"_

"_That they'd what? Come after her? Don't play stupid with me! You knew __exactly __what they were planning,"_ Danny hissed, and his words were so venomous that Sims looked away. _"You wouldn't __dare__ try to justify yourself if you knew what your greed almost cost me! Sam lies practically comatose, broken and bleeding in a hospital bed, and it's __**all your fault**__!__ How much did they promise you, Sims? How much __blood money __did they give you to shadow me so they'd know who to go after next?"_

"They weren't planning anything like that, at least not yet!" Sims said hoarsely, taking in a gulp of oxygen as Danny tightened his grip. "The Society is trying to lay low for a while after the botched plan with the FBI agent! They have orders, I've seen them myself!"

"There's nothing you say that I can trust," Danny snarled, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground. "You'd say anything if it meant saving your own pathetic hide!_ Maybe you need a little bit of persuasion…"_

"NO! JESUS, NO!" Sims screeched as a glowing ball of white-hot energy appeared in Danny's palm. "I'm not lying, I swear! I'm a newly inducted member of the Society! We-_they-_ have rules concerning what can and can't be done. If one of the higher-ups says to lay low we do as we're told! But then again…"

"_Keep talking."_

"Well, I know from firsthand experience that there are more than a few zealots who think the Leader is taking things too slowly. I wouldn't put it past them to jump the gun and move on you without clearance from upstairs."

"_Who are they? Who is the Leader? Names,"_ Danny's voice ran like a hammer striking an anvil. "_Give me…their names."_

"No one knows who Leader is; _he _contacts _us, _not the other way around! And as for the other guys, I don't know any of them _personally_!" Sims bawled. "Half of us are wearing masks most of the time, for Pete's sake! And I only joined a few days ago; I'm not really familiar with most of the other members yet!"

Sims' eyes bulged as Danny grabbed him by the throat again and lifted bodily off of the tile. The ghost boy's eyes glowed even brighter with the force of his wrath, and the snoop's tongue waggled like a chicken being strangled. _"If __you__ don't know…__then who does?"_

"Probably… one of the Recruiters_," _Sims forced out, his lungs starving for air. "They're…in charge…of new members…"

"_Where can I find them?"_

"There's…recruitment drive….scheduled…outside Wal-Mart…"

"_WHEN?"_

"It'll…be there… all day!" Sims made no attempt to hide his terror. "We… have people scheduled to take over… in shifts! At least five Recruiters… will be running it… at one time or another!"

Danny felt some lesser part of him soar with evil joy as his new informant began to turn blue, and his gaze was disgusted as the blubbering Sims begged and pleaded for mercy. _"You're not lying to me, are you?"_

"NO! Jesus, no!" Sims babbled, tears streaming down his face as his composure broke completely. "I'm not lying, I swear, just don't kill me! I'll do anything you want! I'll donate to charity! I'll start an orphanage! _I'll recycle!"_

"_You're sure about that? You'd do __anything__?"_

"Y-y-yes…."

"_Then you're going to leave Amity Park tonight. And you're __never __going to come back," Danny whispered. "If you're even in the same __state__ as me by this time tomorrow, __I may not be quite so charitable__…"_

Then, slowly and deliberately, the dark apparition that had once been the noble Danny Fenton leaned in so close that Sims could feel his breath as he whispered in his ear.

"_You tell them __I'm coming__…__**And Hell's coming with me..**__**.**__"_

_Meanwhile…_

_The Fenton residence…_

Agent Thomas Brody, still bruised and battered from his experience with the Society of Light's hospitality, muttered under his breath as he cast the sheets aside. The guest bed that Fenton's parents had been kind enough to loan him was hardly charitable to the old agent's aching, creaking joints, and so great was the pain which had roused Brody from his slumber that the agent could barely shuffle across the hall. Bleary-eyed and bewhiskered with razor-stubble, Brody cursed to himself as he struggled with the bottle of Advil that seemed to defy any and all attempts to open it.

"Damn childproof container," Brody grunted as he struggled to turn the lid. "Opening this thing should _not _be so difficult…"

"Brody?"

The venerable cop spun around to see a still-groggy Jazz staring at him. "What are _you _doing up so early?" she asked.

"Couldn't sleep," Brody grunted. "Damned arthritis is acting up again and I needed about five pounds of painkillers. Open this, would ya?" he added, thrusting the jar into Jazz's hands.

The girl tried to contain her mirth at the thought of the fearsome Brody struggling with such things as she performed the task with practiced ease. "Here ya go."

"Thanks," Brody nodded. "I may as well get some coffee, I guess. There's no point in trying to sleep anymore now that I'm up. By the way, how's Fenton's girl doing?"

Jazz nodded understandingly. Brody's injuries, especially his back, which was aching worse than ever, had prevented him from joining the rest of the group that had taken Sam to the hospital. Riding in a car in his current state would have been agonizing for the old cop, and no one thought any less of him for it.

"She's…stable," Jazz said finally. "Dr. Dourman said she got beat up really badly, but it could have been a lot more serious. Bruises and broken or fractured bones, mostly, but nothing Sam can't recover from."

"Those dogs will _pay_," Brody vowed, clenching his teeth before softening a bit. "How's Fenton dealing with it?"

"He was devastated," Jazz sighed. "Danny's totally smitten with Sam, so it hit _him _harder than anyone else. I've never seen him so angry before, Brody," she added quietly. "He was…like another person altogether."

"Is Fenton asleep?"

"No, actually," Jazz admitted. "Danny told us he was going to take a walk and wouldn't be back for a while. I don't blame him, to be perfectly honest. He needed to let off some steam."

Brody's head snapped up. "How long ago was this?"

"About three or four hours," Jazz replied, confused. "Why?"

Something in Brody's eyes changed, and he glanced at her with worry in his gaze. "And he hasn't been back since?"

"Nope."

"Get dressed," he ordered curtly. "We're going after him."

"What?"

"Fenton may be a hero, but he's also a fourteen-year-old kid!" Brody exclaimed. "Do you really think there's even the slightest chance that he _hasn't _gone off the rails and gone gunning for the ones who beat up his girlfriend? It's obvious that he's been pushed too far this time, and we need to find him and stop him before he does something he'll regret!"

"You mean…he's going to kill them?" Jazz was appalled. "The Danny I know wouldn't do that!"

"_Danny _isn't himself right now," Brody shook his head as he headed for his closet. "And from what you've told me, he seems furious enough that there's a chance he might actually go through with it. You got a car?"

"Um…yeah."

"Good," Brody nodded, strapping his trusty Sig to his belt. "I'm driving. Get something from your parents' weapons vault and meet me outside in five."

Jazz vanished down the hallway, and Brody took a moment to give a deep sigh of resignation.

"Don't make me come after you, kid, not for a second time…"

_Epilogue…_

Danny Fenton, now clad in the guise of his human form, looked almost cheerful as he exited the lavish two-story house that had, until a few minutes ago, been the residence of the snoop-for-hire Paul Sims. The ghost boy smiled to himself at just how frantically Sims had fallen over himself to vacate the premises in his rush to escape Danny's wrath, and the tire tracks from the ex-journalist's car were still clearly visible on the now-vacated driveway.

The man may have made Danny's skin crawl, but he had certainly come in useful. The so-called "Recruiters" would no doubt know the identities of Sam's attackers, and Danny had no doubt that they would sing like canaries once _he _showed up.

His pace slowed as the sidewalk ended on the street corner, and before vanishing into the night, Danny took a moment to listen intently-

-And his efforts were immediately gratified as, two houses down, the gas-powered stove that Danny had switched on prior to leaving erupted in a thunderous explosion. The residence that Sims had paid for with money that almost cost Sam her life collapsed as though it were made of playing cards amidst a roiling, mushroom-shaped and incandescent fireball that filled the air with the reek of gasoline and rubble. Without even breaking his stride or looking over his shoulder, Danny continued on his way as though nothing of note had happened at all, and the glow of the flames tinged the darkness with streaks of orange and yellow as its shockwave split the night like a monstrous thunderclap.

The menacing silhouette of Danny Fenton vanished across the street, and though his entire body was bathed in shadow, his eyes glowed a demonic red as he inched ever closer to falling into darkness…

A/N: Damn. Looks like Danny isn't playing around! XD But will Jazz and Brody find him in time? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. If there are any obvious typos in this chapter, I apologize. It's really late as I'm finishing this up, but I promise that I'll go back and correct them tomorrow. I would be obliged if you all would be kind enough to help me with this by pointing out anything that needs fixing. ^^


	16. Chapter 16

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_The only sensible way to live in this world is __without __rules! And tonight, you're gonna __break __your 'one rule'!"-The Joker, "The Dark Knight" (2008)_

Chapter 16: Crossing the Line, Part Three

_Outside Wal-Mart's front entrance_

The stampeding rush of twilight shoppers had all but dimmed to a thin trickle of bedraggled humanity that flowed past the small umbrella booth that had been set up just outside of the pneumatically hissing, automatic doors. The stand, emblazoned with the ray of light that was the Society's symbol, was occupied by two particularly thuggish-looking gentlemen whose radical fanaticism seemed to have diminished as the night dragged on. Like mindless automatons, they handed out crisply folded brochures and tiny booklets that were teeming with the Society's vitriolic prejudice, and their droning voices could be clearly heard over the sputtering of passing engines as a young man, his features indistinct in the glow of the streetlights, approached them like a menacing wraith.

"Have a nice day," the first man said blandly to a woman who accepted a mini-book and just as promptly threw it away. "See the Light, before it's too late."

"Keep your friends and family safe," his partner added, as though he were rehearsing a line he'd heard a thousand times before. "There's not much time."

"You're right," Danny Fenton growled, his eyes burning like coals on a midwinter's day as he slowly put his palms on the table's surface. "There's not."

"W-what do you want, _freak?"_ the first speaker demanded, his visibly quaking knees diminishing his unconvincing attempt at bravado. "The soldiers of Truth don't deal with the likes of-MMMMPH!"

Danny clapped a palm across the man's mouth, his body shaking with barely contained fury. "I'm not here to hurt you, scum, no matter how satisfying it might be," he snarled. "I want information, and _you're_ going to give it to me. Answer my questions, and maybe, just _maybe,_ I might be nice enough keep it that way."

"And we should believe you because…?"

Danny's tone was a sibilant, dangerous hiss. "Unlike _you, _I don't hurt people unless I absolutely have to, though I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't enjoy beating you to a pulp. My girlfriend Sam was nearly beaten to death last night, and I have it on good faith that it was a few of _your _people who did it, three or four who violated the orders of whoever the hell is leading you. You guys are in charge of new members to the Society, so I'm guessing you have a few suspicions as to who overstepped their boundaries_._ _Give me their names."_

"What makes you think we'll do _that?"_

"I asked you nicely," Danny snarled, his darker nature resurfacing with a vengeance as he slammed his hands down, causing both men to jump. "And I only do that _once _for scum like _you._ Give. Me. Their. Names."

Wisps of thin ectoplasmic energy poured off Danny's body like heat from an oven as the power in his veins surged like an electric current with the force of his wrath, and slowly, very slowly, the second man fished a memo pad and pen from his pocket. "We…don't know all the recruits by name," he said cautiously, glancing at Danny as though he were a dangerous animal whilst he scribbled on the paper. "But if anyone jumped the gun, I'd place my money on _them._ Maybe someone put 'em up to it on a dare or somethin'. If they ain't at home, they'll be at the bar on Fifth and Maple, next to the sushi place. That's where most of the new guys go to get a drink after the meetings."

"They'll have a tattoo on their left arm," the other added, pointing toward the insignia of the Society that lay draped across the table. "All the newbies have one."

Danny snatched the paper away, his eyes roving over the untidy scrawl before he shoved it into his pocket. He opened his mouth to speak-

- Only to stagger drunkenly as the ghost boy's eyes changed from brilliant scarlet to verdant green for just a moment, and he faltered visibly, blinking rapidly as though something were irritating his pupils as his senses swam.

Somewhere in his heart, a part of Danny that had remained untouched by the hate and rage he felt stirred from its slumber, and a voice, crying and desperate with urgency, sounded in his head like a booming knell.

_I shouldn't be doing this! This is wrong!_

_Why hold back? Why show mercy?_Another, nastier voice replied vehemently. _They gave Sam no such courtesy when they beat her into a coma! Hunt down the ones responsible, as you vowed you would!_

_NO! This isn't __me!__I'm…I'm not like this! I can't be!_

_SHUT UP! YOU WANTED THIS! YOU SWORE VENGEANCE, AND YOU __**WILL**__ KEEP THAT PROMISE!_

The protestations of Danny's inner goodness vanished like smoke on the wind, and he shuddered as though he'd stepped in icy water before his pupils burned scarlet once more, their green glow extinguished like fire in a heavy rain.

"That kid's crazy," one of the vendors hissed out of the side of his mouth.

"No, I'm not," Danny's head snapped up. "Talking about me when I'm in earshot, now _that's _crazy."

With a blinding flash, oblivious to the startled cries of those around him, Danny slipped smoothly into his ghost form and became swiftly airborne. Before departing, however, he paused to hover in mid-air so as to turn his baleful glare on the two men below him for a parting shot.

"_You'd better be telling the truth,"_ he hissed, waving the torn memo sheet. _"Because if you're not, well, I know right where to find you."_

Then he was gone.

The two cultists turned to glance at each other in shocked silence, and then, simultaneously, they tore the emblem of the Society from their sleeves and threw the ripped armbands to the asphalt.

"That's it for me. I quit."

"I'm with you, buddy. No amount of money in the _world _is worth being vaporized."

_Meanwhile…_

Jazz clung to the arm of her seat as Agent Brody swerved her pink convertible into the opposite lane, completely ignoring anyone of a dozen traffic regulations in favor of quickening the vehicle's already frightening speed. Her red hair swished in front of her eyes as Brody turned the wheel like a ship's tiller, and her tone was somewhat sarcastic as she turned to face the venerable agent.

"Where did you learn to drive, from watching _James Bond_ movies?"

"You want to save your brother or not?" Brody growled. "I've been doing this since before you were in diapers, kid. I know what I'm doing."

"Sorry," Jazz's body automatically leaned to the left as the tires screeched in a sharp right, and she jounced in visibly in her seat as the car almost flew over the pavement. "I'm just anxious, that's all."

"So am I," Brody murmured. "I just hope we can-WHAT THE HELL?"

_SCREEEEEEEEEECH!_

The stench of burnt rubber filled the air as Brody nearly flipped Jazz's vehicle over with a sudden and violent stop, and the stainless steel fender came millimeters away from sending a very disheveled and harried-looking Paul Sims flying, bleeding and broken, to the pavement. The ex-reporter and former Society member flinched visibly in the glare of the headlights, and Brody honked the horn several times to have him get out of the way.

But Sims' eyes lit up in recognition as he saw the agent's face. As a Society inductee, he'd been briefed on all of the ghost kid's known associates; if anyone could stop Danny from tearing Sam's assailants into longitudes, it would be the cop who'd hounded Fenton over several continents! It was probably that Brody had already learned of how Fenton had gone off the deep end with his lust for revenge, and it wasn't doubtful that he was out here looking for the ghost boy!

Sims staggered slightly, almost drunk with adrenaline as he approached the driver's side window, and Brody cautiously rolled the glass pane down as Sims opened his mouth to speak.

The ex-journalist knew that what he had done to Fenton would land him at least six months in a federal prison, but now his natural cunning came to the fore as he realized an opportunity for a plea bargain. If he could lead the cop and the girl to Danny before the ghost kid punched anyone's ticket, he might a few hours of community service or even be acquitted.

"You're looking for Danny Fenton, right?" Sims asked, secretly delighting in the astonished look on Brody's face. "Then let's make a deal. I know where he's headed, and I can lead you to him. But in exchange, I want _you _to do something for _me…_"

_Epilogue…_

_Moustache Mary's Pub and Grill was, without a shadow of a doubt, the seediest and most disreputable liquor establishment within Amity Park's city limits. It was a dive for the dregs of the city's inhabitants, a hellhole of sin and debauchery that reeked of alcohol, cigarettes, stale food, vomit, and blood. Its windows had been shattered in bar fights on so many occasions that they were now covered only with heavy-duty masking tape, and the sidewalk outside was crammed with drunks, addicts, and thugs who lay in wait for any who strode off the beaten path. This was a dangerous place, all in all, and hardly a suitable environment for any fourteen-year-old kid._

_But Danny wasn't __just __any fourteen-year-old kid by any measure. _

_The ghost boy's eyes glowed like the sky at sunset after a heavy rainstorm, and his vision was tinged crimson with rage as he walked, slowly and deliberately, up the bar's front steps._

_A mugger clutching a switchblade lunged at Danny out of the shadows, but the boy didn't even so much as glance in his direction. A single-ecto blast in the face sent the man hurtling down the side-walk, screeching in agony, and Danny continued on his way without even breaking his pace._

_Disdaining the doorknob, Danny opted for a much more crude and melodramatic method. Instead of going through the entryway, he made his own by blasting the ancient door clean off of its hinges and sent it slamming into the far wall._

_His breath ragged and heavy, his fists clenching and unclenching, the dark apparition that had been Danny Fenton saw the fear in the faces of the bar's patrons and exulted in it. His burning gaze roved over the now-utterly silent pack of ragged humanity, and he raised a smoldering finger to point at three men, seated near a television that projected a silenced rerun of the "Jerry Springer Show."_

_Three men, with tattoos in the shape of the symbol of the Society branded on their forearms._

"_Get out, while I'm still in a good mood," Danny growled to those who dared to look upon him. "__I'm only here for them…"_

A/N: NOOO! Will Sims lead Brody and Jazz to Danny in time? Will Danny's good nature override the darkness that's in his heart before he kills someone? Or is the hero we all know and love gone forever, to be replaced by this dark apparition? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque

P.S. To all those who have written in and alluded Danny's change in demeanor to the greatest threat ever to appear on the show: kudos to you. (In case you're not one of them, I didn't list him by name. Don't want to spoil it, do we?)


	17. Chapter 17

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_You truly __are__ incorruptible!"-The Joker, "The Dark Knight" (2008)_

Chapter 17: Crossing the Line, Part Four

_Prologue_

_Downtown Amity, half an hour ago…_

It was just as fortunate that Sims had opted to take the back seat of Jazz's car, for if he hadn't, it was quite probably that Agent Thomas Brody would have emptied the clip of his sidearm into his torso. The venerable cop had to struggle to maintain his focus on driving as he and Danny's sister listened to Sims' account of what had transpired, and Brody's fingers _itched _to punch the self-serving coward's goddamn teeth in as he clenched his jaw in rage.

"I should dump your ass out into the street, Sims," Brody growled. "And plea bargain or no, I hope the judge throws the book at you. What kind of person invades someone's privacy like that?"

"I was out of a job, okay?" Sims snapped back. "The Society offered me a bundle to snap a few photos of Fenton and his girlfriend, so I took the offer. I had no _idea _it would lead to all of this, and I _certainly_ didn't think they'd beat the crap out of the girl!"

"Don't try to play the victim," Jazz snarled. "It doesn't suit you."

"Do you two want to rag on _me _all night, or do you want to find Fenton?" Sims replied. "I know several Society hangouts; chances are that if the Manson girl's attackers are there, your brother will be, too."

"And why should we bet everything on _your_ word?" Brody narrowed his eyes in the rearview mirror. "You haven't exactly proven to be an upstanding citizen."

"You don't have a choice," Sims shrugged. "I'm your only lead and I _offered _to help; whether you take it or leave it is up to you guys."

"You did that only because you thought you'd benefit by it!" Jazz was outraged at Sims' pomposity.

"What can I say? I'm an opportunist," Sims shrugged unapologetically. "And if I were you, Brody, I'd hit the gas pedal. Otherwise we'll _never _get there in time, and we'll be scraping up what's left of the vigilantes in Ziploc bags."

"Fine," Brody gritted as he veered sharply into another lane, ignoring the honks and obscenities of startled motorists. "I'll see what I can do about getting you a lighter sentence, but in return you tell me _everything_ you know about the Society of Light: who their leader is, where they get their money, and anything else I can use to bring them down."

"Of course," the ex-reporter grinned. "It's just good business."

"However," Brody growled, his tone laden with menace, "If you play me false, Sims, I swear to God I'll have you shipped off to Leavenworth maximum for rest of your miserable life. Am I clear?"

"Implicitly," Sims nodded, a thoroughly intimidated expression on his face.

"Good," Brody snorted as he switched his turn signal on.

"Do you think we'll get there in time?" Jazz asked hoarsely.

Brody's nostrils flared as he took a deep, apprehensive breath.

"I hope so."

_Now…_

Danny Fenton's feet left trails of smoldering footprints as he slowly advanced on his prey, and his fingers glowed with eldritch energy as he carelessly tossed aside a nearby table, sending poker chips and liquor pints scattering everywhere.

A flurry of playing cards fluttered slowly to the ground of the now-vacant bar, and only the vengeful ghost boy and his awestruck and terrified victims-to-be now occupied the empty room. Danny relished the smell of their fear, the thundering of their frightened and cowardly hearts, and he kept his tone slow and deliberate as he played idly with a ball of searing ectoplasm.

"Tell me," Danny said, in a haughty and arrogant voice that seemed almost as though it belonged to another person entirely. "What kind of person attacks a girl and beats her senseless like you did to Sam? What possible justification did you use to make your consciences clear? You remember, don't you? You thrashed my girlfriend into a near-comatose state and almost killed her!"

"Well, let me tell you, that sword cuts both ways," Danny hissed, looming over the huddled bigots like the Angel of Death himself, "And if you're so convinced that I'm plotting to destroy humanity-"

Suddenly and without warning, the ghost boy grabbed one of the three attackers by his neck and swung him aloft as if to throttle him-

-"_I think I'll start with __you!__"_

The man's feet kicked wildly in a frenzied dance as his fellows watched in horror, and Danny felt a vengeful joy rise in his chest as his victim's cheeks turned an unhealthy blue. The half-ghost thrust a palm of eldritch energy less than an inch from his prisoner's left eyeball, and all it would take was one simple push to melt the assailant's head right off of his shoulders.

But then, as the man's legs jerked, something fell carelessly out of the left rear pocket of his jeans. Overcome with sudden curiosity, Danny knelt, his grip still firm, and disdainfully picked it up.

The object was, in point of fact, the man's wallet, and inside it was a picture of himself…and his family, of a wife and three daughters, all smiling in the plastic frame. A wedding ring confirmed this analysis as he grasped feebly at the hand that was choking him, and the realization of what he was doing hit Danny like a thunderbolt. Conflict raged within him for a second time as two halves, good and evil, light and dark, grappled with each other in the arena of Danny's mind.

_What have I done? _ Danny screamed, shaking his head as his inner goodness fought to banish the fog of rage and anger that had clouded his world for the past few hours. _I can't do this! THIS IS WRONG!_

_Foolish weakling!_ A darker, more sinister tone that reminded the ghost boy of Dan Phantom, Danny's evil future self, made Danny flinch visibly as his eyes altered rapidly from green to red and back again. _You wanted this and you know it! You vowed blood for blood; don't deny it! You wanted revenge just like anyone else would! Well, what are you waiting for, then?_ The dark whisper said smugly, as Danny's eyes met those of his terrified hostage. _See how he squirms like a worm on a fishhook? Squash him like the insect he is! FINISH IT!_

_I can't do it! I WON'T!_

_You did it once, don't you remember? _The evil voice snickered. _You can do it again._

Danny gasped at the memory of Vlad's demise, at the awful recollection of what he had been forced to do to finally vanquish his old enemy, hit him like a bolt of lightning, and for a moment he relived the scene in terrible, merciless clarity. The blood on his hands seemed to return as Danny's eyes blurred with tears of guilt and anguish, and his ears heard once more the sickening _SHKLUK _that the iron rebar had made as it entered Vlad's body. The thunder, the rain, and, most of all, Vlad Plasmius's dying taunt boomed in Danny's ears.

"_Well done, Daniel. Well done, indeed."_

Danny's eyes glowed a ferocious green as he stood on legs that quaked with exhaustion from the war that raged inside his brain. But even as his balance faltered, determination and plain stubbornness made the blood turn to fire that coursed in his veins. The nobler nature within him stirred at the memory of Vlad's last deed and word, and Danny roared his defiance in a silent, heart-rending scream that burst forth like an explosion from the depths of his heart, a heart that until now had been stained with blackness and been pushed to the edge of the dark abyss.

_**NEVER AGAIN, DO YOU HEAR ME? I WON'T TURN INTO VLAD, AND I WON'T GIVE IN TO YOU! I. WILL. NOT. KILL!**_

The gasping man slipped from Danny's nerveless grasp as the half-ghost staggered against the bar, clutching his head as though stricken with a monstrous migraine. Bottles and glasses were sent crashing to the floor as Danny, in a blind panic, swept them to the ground, and when he next raised his head, his voice was almost pleading.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

The trio of attackers needed no further encouragement, and promptly sought shelter under any piece of furniture they could find. As they watched in horrified fascination, what resembled a scene from "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" played out right before their widened eyes.

Danny gritted his teeth as his head throbbed, and in his soul the two sides of him grappled ceaselessly for dominance.

_I promised I wouldn't turn into you!_

_You've already taken the first step!_

_Not yet I haven't! It's not too late, both for me __and __ for them! They're good people who have been deceived by the Society's lies!_

_They hurt Sam, did you forget about that?_

_No! They'll answer for what they did, but not to me!_

_You'd turn them over to HUMAN justice? They'd be back out on the streets in a day!_

_I'd rather they go free than willingly turn into YOU! You're going back in your box, and __**you're going to stay there!**_

_TRY AND MAKE ME! _Danny's dark side roared as the boy's feet carried him to the now-ruined doorway. One slow, staggering step at a time, Danny emerged into the pre-morning hours. The hybrid swayed almost as though intoxicated as he swerved into the middle of the abandoned street, and his very _pores _glowed green whilst every cell in his body hummed with pent-up energy.

Then, with a great, heart-rending screech, Danny gave voice to weeks of pent-up anguish and frustration as tears rolled down his face.

"_**EYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"**_

Then there was light, brighter than any seen before or since, a solid column of green energy that was heralded by a mighty thunderclap which made the skies shake and the earth tremble as it shot endlessly toward the heavens in a massive, swirling maelstrom. Its blinding, eldritch glow would have outshone the noonday sun and forced all who gazed upon it to turn away, and its roiling, searing heat turned any gravel or loose dirt within a six-yard radius into blended sheets of shimmering, silver glass.

Danny slumped, smoldering, drenched in a cold sweat, and more exhausted than a spent battery, and his iron grip on an adjacent streetlight made the wrought metal _hiss _as it bubbled and melted under his searing palm. Danny clung to the lamp as though it were a life raft, his knees quaking and his breath a hoarse, grating gasp, and his chest heaved in and out whilst he shivered and shook like an aspen in the wind.

But despite the fact that he now found himself weaker than a newborn kitten, the sudden expenditure of energy seemed to have served its purpose well. The dark, brooding presence that had clawed at the back of the young man's mind seemed to have vanished, and the red tinge of fury that until now had clouded Danny's eyes and muddled his sense was rapidly receding. Though he had no tangible proof or evidence other than a gut feeling, Danny was suddenly and gloriously aware that he had shoved his darker nature back into its cage. The young man felt as though an enormous, black shroud had been lifted away from the world, with every sense hyper-aware and crystal-clear, and yet…

Though Danny's better nature had claimed victory over the black entity that would one day be Dan Phantom, the hybrid couldn't change what had already come to pass.

Clockwork's words, the warning he had given Danny during his brief venture into the void, echoed through the half-ghost's mind with awful clarity:

"_If you let thoughts of hate and malice cloud your judgment and color your actions, you will follow in Vlad's footsteps and fall into the depths of evil. Should this happen, you will ultimately __become __everything you __swore __to fight against…to the ruin of __all.__"_

Anguished, bitter tears began to squeeze out of the corners of Danny's eyes. _I have failed, _he moaned silently, cradling his head in his hands as sobs racked his sodden frame. _All I've done is prove that the Society was right about me all along._

Danny opened his mouth in a silent scream, shuddering with the force of the cries that made his shoulders hitch. _I SCREWED UP! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?_ He cried, though whom he was addressing, he did not know. _I CROSSED THE LINE, JUST LIKE THEY DID, AND NOW I'VE RUINED EVERYTHING! SATISFIED?_

"You see no hope where there is plenty to be found," the sound of a _very _familiar voice caused Danny to glance up.

"Clockwork?"

The Master of Time nodded genially as the swirling nexus from whence he'd come closed behind him. "Hello again, Danny."

"Come to yell at me?" the ghost boy asked bitterly. "Everyone else probably will, before I'm hauled off to prison."

"I'm never one to kick a man, or boy, when he's down," Clockwork replied. "I only came to offer you a piece of advice."

"You mean about how I'm turning evil? I figured that one out by myself, thanks."

Clockwork shook his head. "I came to tell you not to despair, Danny. You think the end of your world has come, but it hasn't. Hope is not lost upon you; though you think you have fallen into darkness, you could not be more wrong."

"Do explain," Danny made no attempt to hide his skepticism.

"You pulled yourself back from the brink of the abyss tonight," Clockwork grinned sagely. "And, in time, you will become all the stronger for it. You have shown, in the most dramatic of ways, your true determination to walk the right path."

"But…I was going to kill them," Danny sobbed.

"And yet you didn't," Clockwork murmured, leaning in close. "Why might that be?"

"Uh…"

The ghost shifted into his baby form and hovered close to Danny's face. _"The reason is because there is __good __in you, Danny Fenton, more so than in men three times your age. You see the world in black and white__, and you realized that what you were going to do was wrong. That's why you fought back and gave those men time to get out of harm's way. Even in the spell of darkness, you were looking out for others, and it is that quality of compassion and heroism that saved you. You saved yourself __from __yourself tonight."_

"Then what…what do I do now?" Danny wiped his eyes. "What _can _I do now?"

"You can learn from this mistake and avoid repeating it into the future," Clockwork whispered. "And then you must confront your dark half once and for all. _ I _can help you do this…but only when I think you are ready."

"I'll make sure to find out how to do that from a prison cell."

"You're not going to prison, Danny."

"Says who?"

Clockwork twirled his staff idly. "Master of Time, remember? All-seeing and all-knowing. Those fellows over there will be too terrified of you to say anything other than asking which cell they'll be sharing, and Sims will probably agree not to testify against you in exchange for a plea bargain or something."

"Always remember," the ghost finished leaning close to Danny's ear, _"that there's still __good__ in this world, Danny, and it's worth __fighting __for…"_

Then, with a swirl of his cape, Clockwork vanished amidst the screeching of brakes as the glare of headlights made Danny hold up a hand to shield his eyes. For a moment, fear overtook him as he became convinced that more Society thugs had showed up, but fright turned to joy as he beheld a very concerned-looking Agent Brody slamming the car door shut before rushing to his side.

The old cop approached with something resembling caution. "You in there, Danny?"

"I'm fine," Danny gasped. "I'm…better now."

Brody then took that opportunity to slap Danny upside the head, _hard._

"What was that for?"

"Being a teenage idiot," Brody growled. "What on Earth possessed you to go off and start picking fights like that? Jesus, kid, I thought you were actually going to off somebody! I oughta cuff you right now just for taking ten years off what's left of my life!"

"Glad to see you, too," Danny groaned. "And that _thing _wasn't me. It was…something else."

"It was _him,_ wasn't it?" Jazz's tone was soft.

"I think…it was what would eventually _become _him," Danny shuddered. "I could…I could hear his voice in my head."

"Whose?" Brody asked.

"You're better off not knowing," Danny shook his head as his voice cracked. "But I do want you both to know that I'm sorry…for everything."

"You fucked up, kid," Brody nodded. "Royally. But everyone does that once in a while, so it'd be unrealistic to expect perfection from someone who's gone through as much as _you_ have."

"Just don't let it happen again," Jazz warned. "Otherwise, you might _really _get into trouble."

"It could've been a lot, lot worse," Brody agreed, lending Danny an arm to help him to his feet. "So where are the punks who clobbered your girlfriend?"

"Over there," Danny pointed to the three men cowering behind an upturned table. "They're all your, Brody."

"Damn straight," the agent replied, fishing a pair of handcuffs off of his belt as he approached them.

As the old cop read the three attackers their rights, Danny found himself comforted by the reassuring hand Jazz placed on his shoulder.

"Tomorrow's a new day, Danny," she murmured quietly. "And with it comes the opportunity to do better."

The ghost boy gave her a watery smile. "I won't miss it."

And all the while, outside the bar, the sun began to rise.

A/N: WHEW! That was just a little too close for comfort, but then again, that was the purpose of this story arc: I wanted to demonstrate that Danny wasn't infallible, and that he could still mess up sometimes. But will the prisoners and Sims provide Brody the leverage he and Danny need to take down the Society? Will Skryme get away scott-free? And will Danny ever win the hearts and minds of the people? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	18. Chapter 18

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 18: Quickening

_Amity Park Police Department Headquarters_

Danny's eyes were hooded with exhaustion as he stood impassively behind the thick panel that separated the small room, filled with recording devices and surveillance cameras, from the interrogation cell next door. The purpose of this was that anyone monitoring the proceedings could clearly see and hear all the went on in the course of the suspect's grilling without being observed themselves, and now the bulletproof panes served their purpose well as the rubber tires of a squeaky wheelchair came to a stop beside him.

Sam Manson, her battered condition notwithstanding, had obstinately refused to be poked and prodded by Dr. Dourman's staff upon regaining consciousness shortly before daybreak. The good doctor, exasperated by the girl's stubbornness, had finally relented and discharged her from his care, whereupon Sam had immediately taken a cab to the police station to meet up with Danny and Tucker.

"So, are they the ones who attacked m-ooomph!"

Sam's inquiry was abruptly cut off as Danny, his features alight with joy, turned around and promptly pressed his lips to hers in a good, firm kiss. Sam, _his_ Sam, was exactly the medicine he needed in the wake of what had…_almost…_happened, and he felt a flutter of excitement in his heart as she snaked her arms around his waist. Danny pulled Sam clear from her mobile seat as he pulled her close to him gently, seeming to fear the Sam would break like a fragile treasure if he touched her too hard, and for just a moment, all other things were forgotten.

Sam giggled in a girlish manner thoroughly unsuited for someone such as she, and she snuggled up against his chest lovingly as Danny's heart thudded against her own.

"Sam… Danny murmured simply, as though this were explanation enough. "I thought…"

"I don't die _that _easily, dummy," Sam grinned back. "It takes more than a pipe and a crowbar to hurt _me._"

"Don't I know it," Danny breathed, gazing at her with affection. "How long have you been up?"

"Not long. An hour or so. Brody called and told me you'd be here," Sam replied, her tone growing serious. "He also told me what happened, Danny."

_Thwack!_

Danny yelped with surprise as Sam suddenly and quite without warning slugged him in the arm. "OW! What was that for?"

"_That _was for being a testosterone-filled idiot," Sam replied. "Don't you _ever _scare me like that again! I was afraid you'd gone and done something _really_ horrible, and if that'd been the case, Brody wouldn't have been able to bail you out like he did last time! What on Earth were you _thinking?"_

"I…I wasn't," Danny admitted, his eyes downcast and his face forlorn. "I'm so sorry, Sam. Please forgive me…"

She put a reassuring hand on his arm. "Don't worry. I already have."

"So do you want me to fill you two in, or should I come back?"

The voice of one Agent Brody caused the two lovers to jump apart like startled rabbits, and Danny felt his face heat up as the venerable cop grinned knowingly at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" Danny demanded.

"Long enough to know that you're hopelessly in love," Brody smirked back as he downed the remainder of his Folgers. "No shame in _that, _though, let me tell ya."

"From cop to voyeur," Sam retorted. "You must be _so_ proud."

"Hey, _I've _been in here this whole time working the audio settings," Brody said defensively. "_You _guys are the ones who came in and started to go Shakespeare all over the damn place."

"You've been sitting right there? How come we never saw you?"

"An old dog knows a lot of tricks," Brody tapped his nose secretively.

"Are those the people that attacked me?" Sam asked, nodding toward the prisoners.

"'Course they are," Brody spat. "We've got Sims in another holding cell, too, but we'll get to him in a bit. All four of these dipwads have agreed to tell us what they know about the Society's inner workings in exchange for a reduced sentence. Personally, I'd be happy to utter the word 'terrorist' and have 'em all shipped off to Gitmo for a few decades, but we need the intel that they've promised us. We haven't been able to touch the Society: they kidnapped me and _got off clean_, they almost destroyed Fenton's home and _got off clean,_ and I swear to God that there's no way in _Hell _that they're slipping through our fingers this time around! There has to be _something _that we can trace back to that bastard Skryme; if we can _prove _he's been running this show, then the Society will fold like my second ex-wife at poker night."

"Shouldn't you two be at school, anyway?" Brody added, glancing at them again.

"Mom and Dad already called me in sick," Danny shrugged. "And to be honest, I'd like it if I could put school on the back burner until this thing with the Society is over."

"I just got out of the freaking _hospital_," Sam grinned. "Even the evil secretaries in Casper High's attendance office wouldn't make me go after something like _that._"

Brody didn't miss the loving look that passed between the two. _It's good that they have some time to be together after all that's happened,_ he thought. _It's nice to see young folks in love; makes me remember that this country isn't _completely_ going to hell in a handbasket._ Aloud he said, "What about your other friend, what's-his-name?"

"Tucker didn't have an excuse," Danny sniggered. "He's already on the bus by now."

"And he'll be sorry he missed _this,_" Sam added with an evil grin.

Apparently, Brody decided, the fact had been lost upon Sam that she, Tucker _and _Jazz had been detained in a cell very much like this one less than a month ago. The memory of that entire fiasco still made Brody very uncomfortable, and even now, as one of Danny's inner circle, he found it hard to forgive himself for the hell he'd made Danny and his loved ones go through.

_Best not to dwell on that, _he told himself firmly. _You've got a job to do, buster._

Then, with several thick files in hand, Agent Thomas Brody exited the small station and headed for the interrogation room next door with a wolfish grin on his face.

The pleasure of squeezing criminals like grape clusters in a wine-press always tended to brighten his day.

_Moments later…_

The three men who had nearly taken Sam's life jumped as one when Agent Brody entered their midst like a shark among tuna. But once their initial shock had subsided, they found themselves confused: they had expected the cop to come storming in with a wrathful expression and a voice to match, but instead they beheld Brody with a rather benign, harmless grin on his face.

The Agent's outward show of affability was far more chilling than any threatening pretense he could have conjured, and Brody knew it.

His eyes never left those of the attackers as Brody slid into his seat, and he made a great show removing a plastic-wrapped honey-bun from his lapel pocket before proceeding to eat with relish. He knew that the three prisoners had not eaten since the previous evening, and thus the sight of food, and the prospect of more, would serve to loosen their tongues. It was an old interrogator's trick, and one that had worked many times in the past.

"Door number one," he said, taking a moment to lick frosting off his fingertips, "all of you go to prison for a very long time."

The prisoners' faces drained of color.

"I can see that that idea doesn't appeal to you," Brody continued. "Door number two: you tell me _everything _you know about the Society of Light, and you _still_ might go to prison for a very long time. But it couldn't hurt your chances."

"The Light's justice knows no earthly limitations," one of them replied stonily.

"Keep telling yourself that while you're meeting your cellmate," Brody snorted, apparently unconcerned as he motioned several officers into the room. "Take him away, fellas. He had his chance."

The sliding lock of the handcuffs made a ratcheting sound as they were slapped on the man's wrists, and he was ushered out of the detainment cell before his companions' startled eyes. The whole thing happened in the blink of an eye amidst the rustling of cloth, and Brody's benevolent smile reasserted itself as he tapped a finger casually against his chin.

"Now, where were we…? Ah, yes, I remember now: I was about a walrus snort away from making your join your buddy in a federal prison. Of course, that may not be necessary if the two of you suddenly find your tongues and start talking…_now._"

The second man, now thoroughly afraid of Brody, summoned up the courage to speak. "W-what would you like to know?"

"_Everything_," Brody purred, leaning so close that their noses were almost touching. "Where are they meeting? Who holds the membership roster? What are they planning next? _And who is leading them?"_

"No one knows who Leader really is," the terrified prisoner stuttered. "H-he contacts _us, _not the other way around! We don't even have his number!"

"Can the calls be traced?"

"I dunno. Maybe you could put a tap on the line and see what you get," the man shrugged. "But to do that you'd have to infiltrate another base, and we've beefed up security. And even if you get the tap working, I doubt it'll lead you anywhere."

"Let _me _decide that. _You _worry about saving your sorry hide. Where is the base, dirtbag? I know you have at least a handful!"

"Let me see…There's one on 81st, one on Elm and Parker Lane, and one in the vacant warehouse across the street from Mel's Fish 'N' Fry."

"I always _hated _their catfish," Brody muttered. "Which one does 'Leader' contact the most frequently?"

"That would be the one on Elm and Parker. All the higher-ups hold meetings there once a week."

"What time?"

"Seven o'clock. On the dot."

"Is there a window of opportunity that I can use to get my man inside?"

"Well…not really," the second detainee spoke up. "We have new security equipment ever since you busted out a while back. Almost every inch of the place is covered with thermal imaging, motion sensors, and pressure pads. You'd have to be a spy or something to get in unseen; the place is a fortress now."

_Looks like Foley's gonna come in handy again,_ Brody admitted silently. "Are the cameras ever left unattended?"

"We have people there around the clock in shifts, but…."

"_But?"_ Brody growled, urging him to continue.

"Well, each shift changes every hour, on the hour. And there's about five or ten minutes in between the two where the guys on duty are punching out and the guys replacing them are signing in, so no one's in the security room then. You _could _use that…I guess."

"When do all of your so-called 'higher-ups' have their little group therapy sessions?" Brody asked.

"Fridays, usually, but it's subject to change. There's only one copy of the entire membership roster in existence, and if Leader doesn't have it, it'll be in the safe under the big table. It's kept there at all times, except during executive meetings."

"What kind of safe? Another piece of hi-tech junk?"

"Actually, no," the informant smirked. "No money left in the budget, I guess. I _told _them that they should do something about that..."

_"Get on with it!"_

"Okay, okay! It's an old thing, with a knob dial and several tumblers. You could probably crack it if your inside guy knew what he was doing. But why do you need that? The Society isn't illegal; you can't arrest people just for being _in _it!"

"The Society is wanted for questioning in connection with the attack on Mr. Fenton's home," Brody sneered back. "And since none of you have turned yourselves in, that makes you fugitives in the eyes of the law. Hence, arrest on sight. How do you know all of this, anyway?"

"I'm the guy they hired to install it, before I joined," the prisoner shrugged. "Most of it is tech from the security company I work, I mean, _worked_ at."

_His profile checks out , then, _Brody nodded, glancing at a file unnecessarily. "I think we're done here," he said, his brain already buzzing with the information he'd acquired. "You've both been very helpful, and I'm sure the judge will take that into consideration when deciding how long he's gonna put you two in the slammer."

"Just one question," the first detainee halted Brody as he turned to leave. "What are you going to do with the roster once you have it?"

The agent paused in the act of swinging the door open, and in lieu of a verbal answer, Brody held his empty Styrofoam cup aloft…and crushed it.

A/N: OOH, _now _it's ON! I sense a 'Mission Impossible' kind of thing on the horizon! But will Brody's plan work? Will he and Danny FINALLY be able to bring down Skryme? And will our hero _ever_ be able to get back to his life? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! I want to hear what YOU, the reader, have to say! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	19. Chapter 19

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 19: Mission Impossible

_(Go ahead. Hum the theme song. You __know __you want to. XD)_

_221 Elm and Parker Lane, Amity Park, 6:45 p.m._

The nondescript, aging gentleman drew little attention to himself as a waiter escorted him to a meticulously clean table that sat in the shadows of the outdoor café's massive red awning. Clad in a yellow button-down shirt, his face was obscured by a pair of thick sunglasses, and with calculated smoothness he pulled out his chair and cracked open the latest edition of the _Amity Herald._

No one could have guessed that beneath the unassuming guise of the ordinary pedestrian lay the calculated, cold determination of one Agent Thomas Brody.

Though he mourned the conspicuous absence of his usual dark suit and crimson necktie, Brody knew that discretion, subtlety and obscurity were key to the success of Danny's mission. He had scouted out this particular location himself and found it perfect for his needs: the massive piece of canvas overhead functioned to sufficiently hide any distinguishing characteristics from unwanted attention, and the little restaurant provided a nearly perfect view of the nondescript building across the street that served as one of the Society's lairs. With his paper in hand, he could make a pretense of reading while glancing out of the corner of his shades, and no one would be the wiser.

Brody had pulled off dozens, perhaps even hundreds of similar missions during his career at the Bureau. This sort of thing was right up his alley, so to speak.

The agent made a pretense of scratching his earlobe, but in reality he was surreptitiously switching on the tiny, hi-tech earbud that lay lodged in his ear canal. It was a device of Tucker's own design, able to pick up even the tiniest of whispers, and it expertly decoded the vibrations of Brody's throat as he coughed into his sleeve.

"This is Brody," he said, barely moving his lips. "What's your status, guys?"

"I've got a bird's eye view of the street," Danny replied. "All clear so far."

"Copy that. Maintain your position until Foley gives you the go-ahead. We can't move in until the security's been bypassed or compromised."

Several blocks away and in the alley adjoining the secret base, Tucker spat out choking dust and bits of mortar as he fiddles with the assortment of wires that he was attempting to connect to his PDA. "I'm flattered that you think so highly of me, Brody, but despite what you may believe, I can't twiddle my fingers and _magically_ overcome several layers of top-notch surveillance equipment. I may be good, but I'm not a _miracle worker! _You have no _idea _what you're asking me to do! Have you ever tried to fool a network of video cameras, thermal imagers, _and _motion sensors while deactivating several layers of laser alarms? _It's difficult._ Oh, and added to that, I have to do it all without being detected by the firewall, which, in case you were wondering, is the kind used by the freaking _CIA_. It's like trying to hit an arrow with a _smaller _arrow while wearing a blindfold and walking over hot coals!"

"Quit your whining, you big baby. Can you do it or not?" Brody asked irritably, apparently unmoved by the difficulties that the boy was experiencing.

"_Yes, _I can do it. Of _course _I can do it," Tucker grumbled as he fiddled with the circuitry. "I just wanted you to know how hard it was."

The tecchie grimaced as he reached into the small, dark square where a brick had once been. "There's no way I could feed the loop in digitally without the firewall detecting and automatically deleting it. Instead, the security override I've created will simply piggyback the wireless signal, like a stowaway on a ship. Only when _that's _done can we administer the loop without setting off every alarm in the entire building. If my math is right, and it always is, the algorithms I've put in should be sufficient to confuse all the sensors long enough for Danny to get in and out ."

"And how long is that?" Brody asked.

Tucker shrugged as he bit his tongue anxiously. "Optimistically? Five to ten minutes, tops."

"You get all that, Danny?"

"I think so," the ghost hybrid replied, hovering invisibly over the city street. "Get in, get the roster, tap the phone, and get out."

"Don't let anyone see you," Tucker warned.

"I already figured that one out, but thanks anyway," Danny's tone was dry. "It'll be like busting Brody out of the cellar."

"No," Brody growled, glancing over the tip of his paper, "it's gonna be harder. Foley won't be able to keep the security network at bay for long. If you're out of there even one second late, you're toast. This whole operation is being conducted without clearance from my superiors upstairs, and we could _all _get in a _world _of trouble if we screw this up."

"What about radio silence?"

"Thankfully, that won't be necessary this time around," Tucker said proudly as he clamped a small, sinister-looking nodule over a cluster of circuitry. A small, electronic buzz rewarded his efforts, and Tucker breathed a sigh of relief as he consulted his PDA. "I stayed up all night modifying the wireless signal of Danny's earpiece to ensure that it won't be picked up by the Society's network."

"Five minutes till go," Brody interrupted. "If our squealer's intel is correct, the security staff should be trading shifts right about now. That gives you ten minutes, _max,_ to get what we came for, Danny. The Society's higher-ups are probably already on their way here for their daily briefing, too; it'd be best if we were gone by the time they arrive. We have a precarious timetable, kid; don't mess it up."

"Ya know, all the chitchat _really_ isn't helping," Tucker growled through clenched teeth, his fingers flying over the miniature keyboard from whence the snarling net of wires originated. "Wait for it…"

"_Hurry, Tuck!"_

"Wait for it…"

"Stand by; go time in T-minus three," Brody whispered.

"_Hurry up, Tucker!"_

"GOT IT! I got it!" the tecchie cried, his face drenched with perspiration from his daunting task. Though tapping keys was not in and of itself exhausting, the mental effort that Tucker had expended in performing his task had been positively enormous. "We're in!"

Brody switched on his watch, and the numbers immediately started to tick rapidly by. "You are cleared for infiltration, Danny. Good luck."

"I'll help walk you through it," Tucker added. "I have the building specs on hand, so I know every inch of that place."

"Copy that," Danny nodded, going from his steady hovering into a steep dive. The fact that the door to the Society's hidden lair was locked did little to discourage the ghost boy as he tentatively stretched an arm through it-

-Only to have the door swing open right in his face. If Danny had not been in tangible, it would probably have broken his nose. Ignoring Tucker's alarmed voice in his ear, Danny withdrew his limb as though it had been bitten by a snake, and with the still-open door as cover, he held his breath…and waited.

Danny didn't dare turn invisible now. To do so would to risk attracting attention from whoever was exiting the building. Better to stay and use the impromptu hiding place as cover until the situation improved.

Danny was almost afraid to blink as two sets of feet traveled rapidly down the front steps and turned into the sidewalk. From the sharp _clip-clip_ sounds the heels made, Danny guessed that they were wearing dress shoes of some kind. The bud in his ear was balefully silent as his chest rose and fell rapidly with hurried, shallow breaths, and the sounds of the two pedestrians had scarcely faded away when yet a _third_ of the Society's goons seemed to notice that the entrance had been left gapingly ajar.

From the scan visibility provided by the crack in the doorjamb, Danny almost came eye-to –eye with the unwitting fellow as the man muttered menacingly under his breath.

"Would it be too much trouble to ask for people to shut the door around here?" he growled. "Honestly, were those guys raised in a bar or something?"

Danny knew an opportunity when he saw one. As the entrance began to close resolutely shut, he shed any remnants of solidity from his cells and hurtled into the building like a speeding quarterback. Danny threw himself at the rapidly vanishing window of opportunity, and so great was his momentum that he sailed over the wooden floor before dropping to a halt on one knee with surprising agility.

The only problem was that, while he had made it inside, Danny had forgotten to keep his focus on maintaining his invisibility. The startled gasp of the one who'd nearly shut him out sent a chill of panic through Danny's veins, and with speed borne of desperation, he closed the distance in a space of time to small to measure.

His fist made a rather satisfying, meaty _smack_ as Danny backhanded him hard across the face_, _and his enemy dropped without uttering a sound, his cry of alarm vanishing along with his consciousness.

"That was _way _too close for comfort," Tucker breathed over the airwaves as Danny hurriedly stuffed the knocked-out sentry into a nearby closet. "But I think you'd probably be better staying invisible from here on."

"Seven minutes, twenty seconds," Brody added.

"I know, I know," Danny muttered. "Tuck, which way?"

The tecchie consulted the digital copy of the building's schematics that appeared on his screen. "Go up the stairs and take a left. That will bring you into another corridor. When you get there, take a right, and the conference room will be the third door down."

"Got it," Danny nodded. "I'll contact you when I'm in position. Over and out."

The earbud gave an almost inaudible _beep _as Danny switched it off, and his legs and feet turned into a ghostly tail as he floated over the stairway. It was a winding, creaking old dinosaur of a stairwell, with ancient wooden floorboards that would squeak like a rusty gate with even the slightest pressure. It was just as well that Danny hadn't mounted the stairs on foot; he never would have made it to the top without being detected.

Danny's hand clutched the banister from pure reflex as he rapidly ascended the flight of steps, and he turned the corner almost in tandem with another group of the Society's hired muscle. If Danny had been solid, he would have collided with them like bowling pins, and he silently thanked whatever cosmic deity happened to be listening for his good fortune as he passed right through them.

One of the mercenaries shuddered as Danny phased through his torso. "Anyone else think it's cold in here?"

"No, that's just you, Phil."

"I dunno…aren't cold spells a sign of ghosts?"

"What? Like the ghost kid? Gimme a break!"

"No, really! He could have compromised the entire building! Hell, he could be here right now, and we'd never know it! Can't he turn invisible?"

"Get real. You really think Fenton would try to get into _our _base? Nobody's crazy enough to try _that._"

"Well, I think we should do an ecto-sweep of the area, just in case," Phil replied, digging a scanner of some kind out of his pocket.

Farther down the corridor, fear made Danny's heart begin thundering against his ribs. He knew that the device the man held was capable of picking up ecto-signatures emitted by ghosts; his invisibility would do him no good if the scanner picked him up!

He glanced from side to side helplessly, his face contorting with panic. There had to be a way out. There was _always _a way out!

_C'mon, Danny! THINK!_

But the time for contemplation was over, and all at once, the world seemed to begin moving in slow motion. Danny felt a tingle of fear shoot down his spine as the guard, Phil, coolly switched on the device, aimed it, and pulled the trigger.

Instantly, the entire hallway was bathed in a wide-angled beam of electromagnetic pulses-

-But nothing happened.

"Hm. Guess I was wrong," Phil muttered, stuffing the machine into the pocket of his sports blazer. "C'mon, guys. Let's go get some Chinese."

From the spot on the ceiling where Danny's fingers had dug desperately into the drywall with enhanced strength, the ghost boy's face contorted with effort as he struggled to keep from floating away. Just because gravity wasn't working didn't mean he could just stick to a surface like a certain arachnid-based superhero. It was actually a lot like being weightless in space, and now Danny had to exert colossal strength to keep himself from fluttering to the floor like a feather on the wind. Tiny bits of plaster sprinkled down overhead as he waited for the guards to take their leave, and beads of sweat slid down Danny's forehead as he felt his grip begin to weaken. His fingertips began to go numb with exhaustion, but only when the last of them had vanished down the stairway did Danny allow himself reprieve. Sagging with relief and panting mightily from the strain, Danny let go of his impromptu hand and footholds to hover over the carpet once more.

"Tucker!" Danny hissed, switching his earbud back on. "Tucker! You there?"

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

"They have ecto-scanners!" Danny muttered. "Why didn't you tell me they had ecto-scanners? _Now _how am I supposed to get out of here?"

"There's no way I could have known. Just try to stay out of the way as much as you can, okay?"

"Six minutes, forty-five seconds," Brody concluded.

Danny was tempted to crush the earpiece beneath his foot as he turned it off once more. "But no pressure, right?" he asked, his tone sardonic.

"Take a left, take a right, third door down," Danny mouthed silently as he quickened his flying speed. Had he solidity, the wind would have surely blown Danny's snowy hair into his eyes as he shot towards his destination. With admirable aerial acrobatics, Danny ducked under, over, or simply avoided any potential threats like a seasoned fighter ace. Every second counted, Danny knew, and therefore he was willing to sacrifice better maneuverability in exchange for greater haste.

His goal was so close, and yet Danny had never felt so far from achieving it…

_Meanwhile…_

Agent Brody took a sip of extra-caffeinated espresso as his quick eyes darted over the rim of his sunglasses. Nothing unusual, so far, Brody breathed. The outside, at least, remained clear for Danny's escape once his mission had been accomplished, and for this the old cop was extremely grateful.

Then Brody happened to glance to his left, and he nearly choked on his coffee.

Nearly half a dozen vehicles with blacked-out windows had suddenly appeared as if from nowhere, and their screeching brakes could be clearly heard over the roar of the traffic as they parked right in front of the building that Danny had just surreptitiously entered. At least ten people, all hostiles, were now converging on the front steps; whether they were packing heat or not, they were cause for serious concern.

"This is _not _gonna end well," Brody growled. "Tucker! Get out of that alley, _now!_ The Society's higher-ups are starting their meeting early, and they're headed your way!"

"I can't just _leave!"_ Tucker replied, his voice a hoarse whisper. "If I do that, the security network will come back online!"

"Can you see anything?"

From his hiding place, Tucker chanced a peek around the corner. "Not really," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "They look like your standard executive spooks to me."

"Any weapons on them?"

"If they're armed, they must have concealed whatever they're carrying."

"Dammit," Brody hissed. "Danny! Get out of there! Danny! _Do you read?"_

"No use," Tucker moaned. "He's turned his comlink off. He can't hear either of us, Brody."

"Stay on them!" Brody ordered. "You have the cameras, right? Then use them. Monitor those guys' every move, and if they even come _near_ Danny I'm pulling the plug on this operation!"

_At the same time…_

Danny held his breath as yet another squad of fierce-looking thugs passed him by. The ghost boy had flattened himself against the far wall, sucking in his stomach to allow room for the hired goons to continue their patrol unawares, and when the last pug-faced enforcer had disappeared around the bend, Danny took a deep, gasping inhalation.

_How many of these people _are _there?_ He wondered, heading in the opposite direction. _Does the Society have its own private army or something?_

_We'll soon find out_, Danny promised himself determinedly as he glanced out of the corner of his eye. _They won't get away this time._

Danny chanced a peek in either direction once more before he was satisfied that his mission remained uncompromised. His ghostly tail wafted behind him almost like smoke as he felt the clock turning against him, and Danny's eyes scanned the narrow hallway for the room that Tucker had singled out for him.

_Third door on the left, third door…There it is!_ A fierce grin split Danny's serious expression in half. _Take that, Skryme!_

He approached the closed and locked entrance with caution, as though it were a dangerous animal, and Danny spared a few precious seconds to press his ear against the wood to listen for any signs of conversation within.

Nothing but silence rewarded his efforts, and Danny needed no further encouragement to phase silently through the adjoining wall.

Darkness was the first thing that greeted him. Apparently the lights in this room were to be turned off when it was not in use to avoid running up the Society's electric bill. Danny held his arms out in front of him as his eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness, and once his vision had coped with the lack of artificial illumination, he could just make out the profile of an old-fashioned desk phone; this must be the device that Skryme had been using to instruct those he deceived into believing his lies. Moving swiftly and stumbling over several chairs, Danny roughly turned the phone on its side and slipped a small, blinking dot on the machine's base. The bug would be able to discern from where a call came from and when it was dialed, and it would transmit the received information directly to Tucker's laptop.

Danny's smile was smug as he turned his earpiece on again, but any thoughts of confidence vanished when he heard what Brody was saying.

"Danny, for the love of Christ, _turn your damn earbud on!_'

"I'm here, I'm here!" Danny said hoarsely, keeping his voice down. "What is it?"

"The Society's upper echelons are holding their meeting ahead of schedule," Brody replied. "They'll be right on top of you in less than a minute! Get out of there!"

"What about the membership roster?"

"Forget the damn roster! Get your ass out of that building, _now!"_

"I'm not leaving until I get what I came for," Danny shook his head determinedly.

"_You have forty-five seconds, kid." _Brody's tone was harsh with anxiety. _"Make 'em count."_

Danny dropped to one knee as the sounds of footsteps could clearly be heard pounding up the stairs, and he knew that those footfalls were heading directly toward him. He could clearly make out a number of voices as muted conversation grew nearer and louder in volume.

"_Thirty-two seconds! Hurry!"_

The ghost boy struggled to concentrate as he pressed his ear to the safe and turned the dial slowly; he could _hear _the tumblers clicking rapidly as he swiveled it back and forth. His heart pounded like an enormous drum in Danny's ears as his fingers grew slick with sweat, and his grip was trembling with fear and a terrified excitement as the lock continued to defy him.

"_Twenty seconds!"_

From his post in the alley, the tip of Tucker's tongue stuck out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he entered a series of keystrokes into the machine. "Maybe this'll buy Danny some time," he muttered, pressing the 'enter' button decisively.

Instantly, every fire sprinkler in the Society's lair began spraying water at over ninety pounds of pressure per square inch. Shouts of alarm and cries of outrage could be heard as Danny laughed in spite of himself, and it was at that moment that the safe's door slid silently open. Whether it was natural skill at safecracking or sheer dumb luck Danny neither knew nor cared, and he had just enough time to give the piece of paper a once-over with a digi-pen before replacing it back in the safe's interior. Water dripped from Danny's sodden jumpsuit as he turned invisible once more and threw himself clear out of the adjoining wall, and his body sagged with relief and exhaustion as the adrenaline in his veins disappeared.

"It's done," Danny said wearily.

"Copy that," Brody, too, sagged in his seat and used a hankerchief to mop up his face. "Well done, you two. Meet me at the rendezvous point in fifteen minutes."

"Understood," Tucker nodded, gently replacing the now-worn and sizzling pile of circuits and inserting the loose brick back into its hole. "Give me a sec to pack all this up, and I'll be right there."

"This had better work," Danny growled. "Skryme can't get away with everything he's done."

"Oh, it'll work," Brody's tone was smug. "Now that we have eyes and ears in the Society's inner circle, it's only a matter of time before we get something on Skryme that he won't be able to weasel his way out of. And when that happens, we take both him _and _the Society _down._"

Inside the Society's lair, seven very drenched men and women took their seats in chairs that were even more thoroughly soaked than they. The atmosphere had an almost cultish atmosphere as they waited patiently, and then, almost on cue, the phone rang.

Obediently, the bug switched on and began recording.

A/N: Oooh, looks like the endgame is fast approaching! But will the plan work? Will Danny ever be able to get back to his life? And will he ever be free of the Society's hatred? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! I'm starting to think that suspense chapters are even harder to write than action sequences, and I REALLY want to know what you all thought of this one! ^^

Seriously, though, I really, really hope that this chapter has lived up to what you all were expecting. (*Is nervous*).

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	20. Chapter 20

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 20: Back to School, Back to Hell

_(A/N: Sorry to have this up a little later than usual. I had a bout of writer's block over the weekend, and I suppose, statistically, it had to happen sooner or later. XD Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and I apologize for the delay. ^^)_

It was a bright, cheery spring morning that saw Danny and Sam, striding hand in hand, down the sidewalk on the way to class that day. The sky was a flawless azure blue with nary a cloud in sight, the air hung thick with the scent of pollen and the chirping of a choir of songbirds, and the yellow blossoms of daffodils grew into carpets of petals that creased underfoot as the young couple made their way across the street. Danny waved cheerily to a driver that stopped to let him pass, and was even rewarded when the vehicle's operator waved back at him.

Danny had every reason to feel cheery. After all, he and his friends had succeeded in their mission to infiltrate the Society's headquarters. It was now only a matter of time before they nailed Skyrme to the wall like a piece of plywood. For the first time since his ordeal at the hands of the maniacal Vlad Plasmius, things were _finally_ beginning to look up for young Danny.

But, at the risk of sounding clichéd, looks can be quite deceiving.

The sound of hurried footsteps caused Danny to glance over his shoulder, and he felt worry stir within his heart at the sight of Tucker Foley, red-faced and heaving like a blacksmith's bellows, hurrying up to join him. The other boy's breath came in rapid bursts as he bent over in an attempt to regulate his breathing, and Danny gave him a questioning glance as Tucker wordlessly thrust a copy of the _Amity Herald _towards him.

"You're…not…gonna…_believe…_this…" Tucker gasped.

"What is it?" Sam couldn't help being curious.

"Turn to…editorial…section…" Danny's friend flapped a hand wearily. "Just when you think…the Society…can't sink any lower…"

Sam promptly thumbed through the newsprint to the section Tucker had indicated-

-Only to have her mouth fall open with horror at the bold-printed editorial that dominated no less than an entire page. Danny's face turned redder than a tomato as he beheld the scathing article that had been published by an "anonymous" representative of the Society of Light; indeed, the picture box next to the sentence "name withheld" was conspicuously empty.

The only pictures in the article were of Danny and Sam, and on their date at the mall, no less. The cameraman, undoubtedly the unscrupulous Paul Sims, had even had the _audacity_ to take a close-up of the two kissing outside the arcade!

And if the two lovebirds thought the _pictures _were bad, what the article _itself _had to say was even worse. _**Ghost Child Seduces Daughter of Well-Respected Socialites**_**, **the title trumpeted in obnoxiously oversized letters. _**Community in State of Shock!**_

It was the sort of thing that would have looked more at home in a supermarket tabloid rather than a well-respected newspaper. Sam looked as though she were on the verge of vomiting, and Danny took a deep, shuddering breath before forcing himself to read further:

_This was the scene at the Amity Park shopping center just days ago, where the so-called 'hero,' Danny Fenton, appears to have twisted and seduced the heiress of the multimillionaire Manson family. Samantha Manson, the young woman shown here, was undoubtedly not in her right mind or fooled by this devious boy's cunning trickery when she was seen in public locking lips with the infamous ghost child. Danny Fenton, who until just recently been a fugitive wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of our good Mayor Sanchez, has now gone far enough to push this respectable girl into lewd and undecent acts entirely inappropriate for people of her age group; there are even signs of domestic abuse that have recently come to light! Ms. Manson was hospitalized not two days back after a violent attack on her person; though Mr. Fenton has insisted that the assault was perpetrated by the good and noble Society of Light (for more information on their heroic crusade, see page 7), we all know good and well that the blows were dealt by none other than Fenton himself! Fenton no doubt wished to assert an enormous level of physical, social and psychological dominance over a confused and frightened girl, and one can only wonder when Ms. Manson will come to her senses and report Fenton's barbaric behavior to the proper authorities. "I fear for her," Sam's mother told reporters earlier today. "She's always been a rebellious girl, but this time she could really get hurt!" Ms. Manson's father added that Fenton appears to have brainwashed their daughter, as Sam has, on multiple occasions, refused to listen to reason and voiced a desire to stay with Fenton (no doubt the result of Fenton's constant abuses and intimidation)._

_Where will it end, my friends? This deviant not only damages public property: now he has gone far enough to sweep our daughters away, one by one! How long is it until we hear tell of an illicit child borne by one of these unfortunate young ladies? How much longer will we tolerate Mr. Fenton's pretenses of heroism and his deceitful lies of a desire to lead a "normal" life? _

Danny looked away. He couldn't bear to read any more; he had never been so humiliated in his entire life. "To think I was actually looking _forward_ to school today," the ghost boy muttered bitterly. "So much for optimism, I guess!"

"That Paul Sims…" Sam growled. "I hope Brody _strangles _him when he sees this! These are _his _pictures that he took of us!"

"This also explains why almost everybody was looking at us kinda weird, now that you mention it," Danny added thoughtfully. "Not that it makes things any better. How many people do you think have seen this?"

"Almost everyone at school will have heard about it by now," Tucker shook his head. "Man, this is gonna be a rough day for _all _of us."

"By now," Danny snarled, crumpling the paper into a ball and throwing it over his shoulder, "I think I should be used to it. _Damn _the Society! Even when they're almost _beaten, _they manage to screw up my life one more time!"

The crowded courtyard of Casper High loomed into view as a most unwelcoming sight, and Sam shook her head as she and Danny both gave an enormous, weary sigh.

"Well, into the lion's den we go," Sam muttered. "I don't suppose we happen to have an angel hanging around?"

Danny made a show of surveying the cloudless sky as the bell rang for classes. "No such luck, I'm afraid."

The young man took a moment to brace himself as he proceeded through the door, and after squinching his eyes shut a moment, Danny pulled the entrance wide open while praying that no one would notice him.

But Lady Luck, as she had done so many times before, had abandoned him yet again. No sooner had Danny stepped into the hallway than the entire student body stood completely still.

Their accusing glances and contemptuous gazes pierced Danny's skin like flaming arrows, and he was compelled to look away as hundreds of eyes met his own. The air became thick with the hushed whispers that flew thick and fast from person to person, and though none of them reached Danny's ears, he had no doubt that his fellow alumni were talking about _him._

_Him _and Sam, that is. Sam, whom Danny loved with all his heart and soul, was now as much an object of scorn as he. That she would be forced to endure humanity's hatred for his sake made guilt, mindless and without reason, stir in his belly like a nest of snakes as the three friends silently made their way to down the corridor.

Sam gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Just ignore them, okay? I'll see you at lunch."

"R-right," Danny nodded, grinning in spite of himself. The foolish smile he sported had been seen on many a young man who had tasted the sweetness of love for the first time. "Easier said than done, though."

A blush spread across Danny's cheeks as his girlfriend returned his rueful smile and brushed a stray lock out of her eyes, and for a moment he stood rooted to the spot, captivated only by _her._

Then Danny turned around and was suddenly reminded whose class he and Sam had been assigned for the first period of the day.

_Claudia Barousse, Algebra 101_, the sign outside the classroom proclaimed.

"Crap," the Goth muttered succinctly.

"I was thinking of a stronger word," Danny replied, cradling his head in his hands. "Man, she's gonna have a _field _day if she's read the paper this morning."

"Maybe she hasn't had time to do that yet," Sam said hopefully.

"Wishful thinking, Sam…"

_Moments later…_

"Well, well," the horse-faced Barousse grinned evilly as Danny took a seat in the back row. "Look who decided to join us in the house of learning today, class: our own resident _freak _and his tomboy girlfriend! I wonder, Mr. Fenton, where you have been these past few days: you have more than a few missed assignments to hand in to me. I trust you have not been lazy in your absence, hmm?"

Danny was at a loss for words. He had neither received nor heard any word from _any _of his teachers concerning schoolwork that he had to make up. It was obvious that Barousse had deliberately kept such knowledge from him in order to facilitate a failing grade in her class, and his ears turned pink with humiliation as he realized that he'd been backed into a corner.

"Of course you have," Barousse snorted contemptuously, breaking the uncomfortable silence amidst a chorus of snickers. "But then, what else can be expected from such a poor student?"

Danny gritted his teeth and bit back the repertoire of stinging retorts that sizzled on his tongue as Barousse made her way down the row of desks. "Surely Mr. Fenton doesn't expect to be given special treatment for his supposed acts of heroism, does he? Has he finally realized that he cannot win against the Society's words of wisdom? Do not be deceived by his lies, my dear students; why, with enough…_persuasion_…I'm sure that each and every one of you will eventually come to embrace the glorious Truth and see that _thing _sitting over therefor what he really is. No doubt the heroic Society of Light would welcome strong young men and women such as you into their ranks to help carry on their noble work." Barousse's eyes flashed, and her tone turned threatening as she hissed, "And if any of you are among the foolish and misguided people who _dare_ to speak against the word of the Light..._Then God help you. God help every last one of you._"

"You're crazy," Danny said flatly, reviled at the dreamy, idealistic expression that suffused Barousse's face. The old woman actually _believed _what she was saying.

"Not as crazy as _you_," Barousse spat back. "Sullying these ancient walls with your foul genetics and unholy 'gifts'. You really _are _a _most _unnatural creature, Mr. Fenton, an abomination with no proper place in an orderly society. See me after class so we can discuss your punishment."

"Punishment? What'd I do?"

"Nothing," Barousse said sweetly, dropping her voice so that only he could hear her. "I just despise you, that's all. Now open your textbook, you ugly little ghost-freak, and turn to page ninety-five."

Danny's cheeks burned with embarrassment, and his pencil threatened to snap in two as his grip tightened upon it. One way or another, he vowed, he and Barousse would have a reckoning when this was over…

_Meanwhile…_

Inside the unmarked, unassuming minivan parked some distance away from the Society's secret base, Agent Thomas Brody resisted the urge to knead his aching back as he sat in the uncomfortable swivel chair from which he monitored the surveillance equipment arrayed before him. A pair of well-worn and tattered earphones made Brody's balding head itch, and he scratched his scalp idly as he turned slowly in his seat.

The bug that had been planted within the Society of Light's headquarters was functioning well, and yet it seemed that Skryme had suddenly cut off all contact with his puppet underlings. Not a whisper had been picked up by the listening device that Danny had planted deep in the bowels of the Society's inner sanctum, and Brody ground his teeth with frustration at how impeccably _bad _the timing of this sudden lack of communication seemed to be. He was so nerve-wracked after hours sitting on his ass in a cramped, dark little vehicle that he was almost _itching _to shoot something.

Granted, this probably wouldn't have solved any of Brody's problems, but the satisfaction of destroying something always made him feel a little better.

_If the stupid bug doesn't pick up something soon, I'm gonna call it quits for today and head over to McDonald's_, _and __screw __ whatever that quack physician says about it, _Brody promised himself. _I need __real__ food, not that protein shake bullshit that he's had me on lately…_

Brody was just about to slam his earphones down in frustration when the console at which he sat gave a small, telltale _beep._

Brody would have known the sound anywhere. The bug had picked up something.

_Finally!_ He thought exuberantly, punching his fist into the air. _Now let's see what we've got…_

"_Good evening, my friends,"_the arrogant, nasally tone of Andrew Skryme sent shivers of rage down Brody's spine as he continued to listen_, "__Long live the Light!"_

"Amen!"half a dozen voices responded_. _"Glory to the Truth! Hail to the Leader!"

_He's got you guys eating right out of his hand, _Brody thought spitefully. _Idiots._

"_How goes the Glorious Mission?"_ Skryme asked.

"Our campaign against the ghost child goes well," someone responded. "We have already begun to rally the community against him; we sent an anonymous article to the paper this morning to facilitate his eventual banishment from the human world. The public has begun to rally to us; more are coming to answer the Call."

"_And what of the traitor Brody?"_ Skryme asked. _"I am told he continues to be a thorn in our side."_

"Brody continues to aid the ghost child in his attempts to undo our Holy Crusade," the speaker replied. "The attempt to remove him was…unsuccessful, as you know. The botched attempt to squeeze Brody for information concerning the Dark One seems to have only fueled his desire to see our downfall."

_So Skryme __was __behind it!_ Brody thought furiously. _I knew it! That sonofabitch tried to kill me off!_

"_What of our operative inside the school?"_

"Barousse continues to fulfill her mission admirably. She has assured me that she will make the Dark One's life most unpleasant within the walls of Casper High."

"_Our next operation goes according to plan, I take it_?"

"Yes, sir. We have begun to plan a second attack on the ghost child's domicile. The first attempt, though it undoubtedly caused significant damage, failed to see its objective through. This time, we will raze that foul place to the ground and purge its foulness in the flames of glory," the man continued, his tone reverent. "Our forces are already observing the Fentons' home; we will strike in the dead of night, as we did last time."

_Not if I have anything to say about it,_ Brody vowed.

"_Make sure Brody isn't around to interfere,"_ Skryme hissed, as though reading the agent's minds. _"If not for him, FentonWorks would be ashes by now! Move in tonight, and leave not a single brick standing! If anyone tries to stop you, kill them!"_

"But is it wise to-"

"_All things are expendable in this great crusade,"_ Skryme snapped brusquely. _"__Besides, the deaths of those who Fenton professes to 'love' will only hasten his departure into the Ghost Zone, where he belongs. Take as many men and weapons as you need._"

"It will be done, leader," Skryme's subordinate vowed. "Fenton will know the Light's justice!"

_And you'll know mine, _Brody added silently. _When you bastards show up at Fenton's doorstep…__We__ will be ready…_

A/N: OOH, I sense the endgame approaching! Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, now things are starting to get REALLY good! I predict that only four or five chapters of this story remain, at most (though this could change), so rest assured, Skryme AND Barousse will BOTH get their comeuppance soon enough! ^^ And PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! I want to hear what YOU have to say, so don't be shy! Let me know what YOU think I could do to make this story better; I always enjoy hearing feedback from my readers! ^^

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	21. Chapter 21

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 21: To Spring A Trap

_Outside Fentonworks, 2:00 A.M._

_The guys on CSI make it look so easy, _a thoroughly uncomfortable and cramped Danny Fenton thought dryly to himself as he sat, cramped like a sardine, in the unassuming and unmarked van that he shared with Agent Brody and half a dozen of the old agent's "friends" from the FBI. The ghost boy's muscles ached abominably from hours of sitting in the same position, and he was actually beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic as the long wait began to take its toll.

Danny's eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, as though they were made of lead. No matter how great his desire to take down the Society of Light may have been, the fact remained that it was still two in the morning, and Danny was only fourteen. To be awake at such an ungodly hour was almost certainly unhealthy for someone his age; already, Danny's eyes were beginning to grow shadows from lack of sleep.

The young hero glanced at Brody, seemingly undaunted and infallible in the driver's seat. The floor by which the agent sat was littered with spent coffee cups of all sizes, and Danny guessed that it was the mixture of caffeine and long experience that helped Brody keep his senses sharp so early in the day. Surely the old cop had done dozens, perhaps hundreds, of similar operations such as this, and it made sense that he would seem unfazed at being awake for nearly thirty straight hours. The entire vehicle and all its operatives were eerily silent as the empty street lay balefully silent, and Danny took a moment to distract himself from the unnatural quiet by studying the associates that had turned up in Amity earlier that day to assist him and his friends with setting the Society's trap.

They were all veterans, Danny assumed, each and every one a grizzled, stubble-faced and bulky FBI agent with at least ten years' service under his belt, their badges scratched and pitted and their firearms well-oiled. They were tough, no-nonsense and street-smart, and the men that Brody now commanded seemed to be as individually formidable as Brody himself.

All in all, Danny reflected, these were _not _the kind of people _he _would want to go up against. The Society would have a nasty surprise in store for them if they expected the cops to let them off the proverbial hook. Normally, of course, such manpower would have been deemed excessive for dealing with something as seemingly small as the Society of Light, but Brody was able to convince his superiors that the deranged religious group posed a significant threat to the public health and welfare, and in any case the venerable cop had turned out to have more than a few old friends in D.C. who didn't react kindly to the news of his abduction. Brody, one must remember, was a living legend of the FBI, and the agency didn't take kindly to one of its most esteemed operatives being treated so. Thus, Brody had used his combined influence (as well as calling in a few old favors) to have the Society labeled as nothing less than a group of domestic terrorists.

And, as we all know, the standard procedure for terrorists was simple and straightforward: _respond with overwhelming force._

The ghost boy glanced at Brody, who for all intents and purposes looked to be dozing. "Why haven't they shown up by now?" Danny whispered, breaking the silence that reigned inside the vehicle and drawing the gazes of Brody's compatriots. "Are you sure they're coming?"

"I'm sure, kid," Brody grinned ferociously. "I overheard it myself, and _you _overheard when I played out the tape that the bug recorded, remember? Unless they knew we were listening, which I doubt, they'll come crawling out of the woodwork sooner or later. Just sit back and relax; I know it's hard, being a teenager and all, but it helps the time go by."

"I don't have any _room_ to sit back," Danny retorted playfully. "I barely have any space to sit at all, to be perfectly honest."

"Have we heard back from Beta or Gamma Team yet?" one of the other agents asked.

Danny's ears perked up. His was not the only squad that Brody had mustered for this particular operation, far from it. Two more teams lay in wait like hungry wolves, all armed to the teeth: one at the corner of the intersection several blocks down, and one at the alley at the end of the street. Together, Danny and his allies formed a "T" shape that would box the Society in; when the trap was sprung, there would be avenue of escape open to them.

Brody pressed a button on the walkie-talkie that was plugged into the van's dashboard, and the machine squawked with static as he spoke into it. "Beta Team, this is Alpha checking on your position. What's your status? Any sign of the target? Over."

This was followed by a split second of quiet, and Brody was beginning to think something was amiss when the agent on the other end picked up. "Negative, Alpha team. We're sitting here like a bump on a pickle and there's no sign of the Society anywhere. Over."

"What of our boys in Beta? Any word from them?"

"Nothing to report there, either, I'm afraid. They checked in with us about fifteen minutes ago. Nothing on their end, either."

"Let me know the minute you see anything fishy," Brody ordered him. "And I mean _anything. _If the bushes so much as _tremble,_ you call it in, understand? I'm not taking a chance on these sons-of-bitches getting away again."

"Still holding a grudge?" Danny smirked.

"Damn right I am," Brody growled back. "Just you wait, Danny. You and me are gonna kick the Society's collective ass so hard that their _ancestors _won't be able to lie down!"

"I wish I could say I disagreed," Danny murmured. "But if I did, I'd be lying. To be honest, I've _had _it with those guys. It's fine if they target _me;_ _I _can defend myself, but when they target Mom or Dad or…" his voice broke for a moment, "…Or Sam, _that's _where I draw the line. They could have killed her. They _would _have, if I hadn't found her sooner."

"Well, after tonight, the Society won't be our problem or anyone else's," Brody promised. "I'm through messin' around; this time, we're bringing the battle to _them!"_

The venerable agent would have said more, but his words of war were interrupted when the speaker on the van's dashboard emitted a burst of static.

"Alpha leader, do you copy? This is beta team . Over."

"Go for Alpha leader," Brody replied. "What's going on?"

Danny's heart nearly skipped a beat at what he heard next.

"Possible group of hostiles headed your way, bearing five-nine-two-one-zero-zero at six o'clock! Be advised, be advised, targets may be armed and dangerous! What's our next move? Over."

"No one moves until I give the signal!" Brody shouted. "Maintain your positions! Danny, with me!"

"Got it," Danny nodded determinedly, his heartbeat speeding up a little. He'd never been on an honest-to-God police raid before.

"Get ready to move on my mark!" The agent addressed his comrades. "When they get close enough, we take them down _hard!"_

"It's the only way we know how, Brody," one of the other Bureau operatives replied with a feral grin.

_Meanwhile…_

The city street was absolutely deserted in the dead of night as a single lamp flickered erratically, casting dancing silhouettes and sparse light over the abandoned thoroughfare. A stray piece of newspaper swirled like a tumbleweed in the gentle, whispering wind that swept over the asphalt, and the entire scene was utterly silent as the city of Amity slept deeply.

One could see the long shadows of the approaching enemy long before he could see the enemy himself.

Like a swarm of locusts they came, and the scout who had reported their immediate arrival had been correct in his assumption that the rioters were armed. Indeed, the Society members were equipped with a variety of crude household implements that had been modified to serve as makeshift weapons. Pipes, clubs, axe handles and even a smattering of torches were very much in evidence, and in the ghastly pallor of the flames, the masks and hoods in which the Society was clad gave them a nightmarish appearance. In utter silence they closed in on Danny's beloved home with only the pattering of footsteps to denote their arrival, and their combined strength gave off an aura of incredible, religious fanaticism whilst hate poured off them like heat from an oven.

None of them gave a second thought to the seemingly abandoned minivan that lay parked by the curb. Inside, regardless of the blacked-out windows, Danny gasped and hunkered down as the mob passed only inches away from his face. A mere pane of glass separated him from them, and if he wanted to, Danny could have looked one of his tormentors right in the eyeball as he passed him by.

The ghost boy looked somewhat sick. "There are so many…" he mumbled.

"What are we waiting for?" one of the other cops asked. "Let us at 'em Brody!"

"_When I say wait for my command, you __wait __for my command!" _Brody snarled back. "_We don't spring the trap until __all__ the pieces are in place!"_

Outside, one of the rioters, clad in the hideous visage of a mask fashioned to resemble a Western lowland gorilla, raised her torch aloft so as to halt the Society's progress. "Blessed be the Light of the Truth, for we are its children!"

"The Light will spread over the entire Earth!" a hundred voices chanted back in a uniform drone.

"The Lord will strike down the Child of Darkness and all who hold with him!"

"Death to the Son of Lucifer! Glory to the Light and the Great Crusade!"

"And with our swift and righteous strength, we will strike down the Dark One and free humanity from his evil influence!" Claudia Barousse cried, tearing off her disguise in a moment of peak religious fervor. "He will know the fury of the glorious Society, and with a great hammer-strike, we will cast him out from man and back into the abyss from whence he came!"

"AMEN!"

Barousse lifted her blazing weapon aloft, making ready to cast it into the Fentons' living room, and Danny's face contorted with anger as he saw at last the full extent of his teacher's fanaticism. His blood boiled with anger at the joyous expression on Barousse's face; the old crank actually _believed,_ with every fiber of her being, that she was actually doing the right thing. That Barousse was even capable of justifying what she was doing in a moral sense gave no uncertain indication as to the kind of person he was.

But anger turned to nervous excitement as Danny reminded himself that this time, the advantage was his. Barousse and the others had no idea that the ghost boy they so despised had taken the home field advantage; any moment now, they would find themselves staring down the barrels of over a two dozen pieces of remorseless metal, each wielded by no fewer than thirty of the best men that the FBI could spare.

Clubs and hammers tended to fare rather poorly against a Sig Sauer semi-auto or Smith and Wesson revolver.

Danny clenched his fist as the wait seemed to drive him mad, and though only seconds had passed since the Society had besieged his domicile, those few moments seemed to last for an eternity.

Then Brody picked up his mike one last time, and the agents around Danny took the safeties off their weapons with an ominous chorus of deadly _clicks._ Danny's palms smoldered as spheres of searing green ectoplasm appeared in his hands, and telltale twin rings of light moved over his body as he shifted smoothly into the ghostly form that the Society hated with such conviction.

Time seemed to slow down to a snail's pace as Thomas Brody moved his lips, and he placed on hand on the vehicle's door as he slid it open just a notch.

"This Brody to all units. _Go."_

Then, like a general of ages past leading his troops into battle, the venerable cop hurled himself out of the van like a bat out of Hell with his weapon at the ready. In single file and with admirable speed, the minivan's occupants poured out onto the street as they kept their weapons aimed steadily at the enemy ranks. Tasers crackled in the night air as the wolves of the law streamed onto the pavement.

Several of the Society's members had the good sense to glance behind them to investigate the source of the sudden disturbance, and some lesser part of Danny roared in vengeful joy as he saw the color rapidly drain from their terrified faces. Bigoted shouts turned to cries of alarm as more of the Society's men and women realized what was going on, and from that point it wasn't long before alarm turned to outright panic seconds before the large group of hate-mongers scattered in all directions. They fled like foxes running from hounds, clawing at fences and pounding on doors in their vain attempts to get away, but despite their desperation no avenue of escape presented itself to them.

To the left, their way was blocked by the dead end of the cul-de-sac.

To the right, the avenue to freedom was cut off by the wailing squad cars whose brakes screeched on the pavement as they formed a barricade against the routed foe.

With Brody closing in and their backs to the proverbial wall, the Society of Light went absolutely berserk. Some tried to stand in fight whilst other ran, sobbing with terror, and a greasy man in a stained T-shirt threw himself at Danny with a wrench clutched in his meaty fingers.

Danny glanced at the Agent in silent inquiry, and a nod from Brody was all he needed to knock his attacker out cold with a blast of ghostly energy.

The Agent rolled the unconscious man over with his foot, and he cuffed the fat fellow's wrists with grim satisfaction as gunshots began to split the night air.

"Relax, kid," Brody nodded at Danny's horrified expression at the sudden discharge of firearms. "Rubber bullets. They won't kill anyone, but they _will _sting like the dickens."

Danny smoothly side-stepped a pipe-wielding hooligan and landed a punishing blow in the small of his back. "Just making sure," he said, rounding on yet a third attacker and cracking the man's jaw with an uppercut that rattled the fillings in his teeth. A gold filling clattered on the ground as that fellow dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Danny promptly seized the fallen pipe and, holding it over his head, used it to deflect a downward swipe with a rather large cleaver. The ghost boy turned the man's weapon aside with a turn of the wrist, and without sparing a moment he darted inside his enemy's guard and broke his nose with the point of his elbow. Blood gushed down the attacker's face as he instinctively clutched his ruined olfactory sensor, and he turned to run just seconds before Brody tackled him like an NFL quarterback and slapped a pair of cuffs on his hands.

The other Society folk, seeing Danny, automatically began converging toward the ghost boy in a last, desperate attempt to succeed in their "mission." Wielding sticks and plumbing implements, they charged headlong at Danny as their fanaticism took hold. Though many fell on the way to tasers or false ammunition, several managed to get within range of the ghost boy and promptly attacked as one.

Danny's fist made a resounding _SMACK_ as it collided with the side of a woman's spitting face, and he followed this up with a nauseating blow to the lady's midsection as the breath left her body in a massive _whoosh_. She crumpled, gasping, her features contorted with pain, and Danny promptly seized the wooden shaft she dropped to bring it down on the cranium of one of her compatriots. The fellow's eyes rolled up into his head as he let out a gasping whine, and Danny, without even breaking his pace, half-stepped to the side to avoid being skewered on a butcher knife before backhanding the weapon's wielder on the back of the neck. The cutting implement clattered to the asphalt seconds before its owner joined it, and Danny used the distraction to send another Society bigot flying through the air with an ecto-blast to the chest. The man's momentum shattered a nearby shop window before he collided with several shelves, and there was a great _crash_ as the aisles broke his fall. Danny did not even pause to acknowledge this; with speed so great that it made the air hiss, he surged forward like a striking snake and struck together the skulls of two more enemies. The cranial bones made a sound reminiscent of coconuts colliding as the Society of Light began to fall, and Danny promptly turned around on his heel and backhanded yet another enemy right across the chops. His knuckles became skinned and bloody from strikes against bone even as Danny's foot collided painfully with the side of an attacker's rib cage, and Danny lifted the screeching racist bodily before hurling him like a wrecking ball into a cluster of his own comrades. The Society members went down in a crashing jumble of arms, limbs, and startled cries, and Danny leapt to avoid a stiletto thrust before landing a punishing side-kick on his attacker's cheek. The man stumbled as he went past, grabbing at his rapidly swelling face, and after blasting another into a nearby wall, the young hero turned bravely to face the newest threat-

-Only to be halted in his tracks by the sight of Claudia Barousse herself advancing upon him, her eyes glittering with malice and a torch clutched in her bony fist. "Burn, Satan-spawn, burn!" she screeched, lunging toward him like a deranged raptor as she swung the flames like a lethal club.

Danny, taken by surprise, jumped back as the searing heat passed by the spot where his face had been a split second before, and he rolled to escape a plunging stab, firing ecto-beams as he went.

Barousse gasped in dismay as one of the shots blasted the torch right out of her hands, and the blazing weapon spun through the air before landing harmlessly in a nearby birdbath with a resounding _hiss._ With nothing more than her long, polished fingernails, Barousse let out a piercing shriek and threw herself at Danny's smirking face with wild abandon. Her hands sought to throttle the life out of Danny as they shot toward his throat, and her eyes widened with what might be called insanity.

Danny was undeterred. Fighting a sixty-year-old woman was much easier than fighting Undergrowth or any one of a dozen of his most erstwhile foes. Danny waited until the very last second, and just before Barousse's elongated nails gouged out his right eye, he twisted to the left and landed a brutal knife-hand strike on the nape of his former teacher's neck.

Barousse's charge turned into a halting stagger, and she wobbled a few steps before collapsing with an agonized groan.

The Society was beaten, and this fact was not lost upon Brody as he brought a bullhorn to his mouth and switched it on. "THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS!" his amplified voice boomed. "WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! IF YOU ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE OR RESIST ANY FURTHER, WE WILL USE LETHAL FORCE!"

The sudden and unexpected interruption of Brody's announcement brought the chaos to an abrupt and screeching halt. Men and women paused in the middle of tangling with the agents of the Bureau, and Brody's gaze never wavered as he stared down the long barrel of his scratched and pitted firearm.

The silence was paradoxically deafening and seemed to stretch on forever, but then the unnatural quiet was halted as a skinny, pudgy-faced fellow released his grip on the knife he held and sent it falling loudly to the asphalt.

The discarded weapon was soon joined by dozens more as wooden and metal implements clattered and clanked cacophonously as they were dropped from nerveless, shaking fingers. One person at a time, the Society of Light's resistance melted away like butter in the microwave, and more than one of the beaten racists shot Danny looks of utmost loathing as Brody signaled his men to begin mopping up. The still night air rang with the ratchet of handcuffs as the outnumbered agents rounded up the beaten Society into small groups, and these were collectively read their rights before they were cuffed hand-to-hand like links in a chain.

As suddenly as it had started, the fight was over.

And yet, the relative peace that had been restored to Danny's neighborhood was shattered one final time as no fewer than four of Brody's men struggled mightily to force a positively rabid Claudia Barousse into the back of a patrol car. Her tightly bound hair was now frenziedly askew as she fought tooth and nail against the agents, and spittle sprayed from her lips as she threw every ounce of her strength into her bid of escape.

"_YOU CAN'T STOP THE LIGHT'S JUSTICE!" _Barousse screamed shrilly at the top of her lungs. _"IT'S THE ONLY WAY WE'LL EVER BE SAFE! WE ARE THE SOLDIERS OF THE TRUTH, __AND WE'LL DESTROY DANNY PHANTOM YET! __I'LL GET OUT, FENTON, AND WHEN I DO, YOU WILL KNOW THE WRATH OF THE SOCIETY! I WON'T REST UNTIL I HAVE FULFILLED OUR __GLORIOUS __MISSION-_Mmmmph!"

Barousse's tirade was cut off as Brody removed a hankerchief from his pocket and forced it into Barousse's mouth. "Oh, for Pete's sake, _shut the hell up_," he said tiredly. "You'll have the whole neighborhood awake, carrying on like that, and then I'll have to add disturbing the peace to your list of charges."

Danny, looking very much unharmed despite the brawl he'd been fighting only moments earlier, took a moment to wave at his teacher as he turned intangible and stuck his head through the window. "I wonder if prison food is as bad as they say it is," he snickered. "Even the _lunch_ _ladies' _cooking will probably look good compared to _that."_

Barousse tried to yell a reply, but the rag betwixt her lips turned her protests into unintelligible mumbles.

"Normally, I'd tell you not to enjoy this so much," Brody shrugged as the last of the prisoners were carted away. "But after the hell these people put you through, Danny, I think I'll make an exception."

"Uh…thanks," Danny replied uncertainly.

"No problem, kid," Brody yawned as he surveyed the riot site. "I don't think either of us need to linger here for very much longer. You're dead on your feet and the late hour is starting to catch up to me. You go on and get some shuteye; I'll be in shortly."

"No need to tell me twice," Danny agreed ruefully, checking his watch with a grimace. "I can barely keep my eyes open."

"Folks your age aren't built for late-night work," Brody grunted in reply. "It ain't healthy, and I speak from experience."

"At least I can sleep knowing that _those _guys won't be there when I get to school," Danny muttered, reflecting on just how thoroughly he and his ally had crushed almost two-thirds of the Society's membership. The cost to the hateful organization had been steep indeed; with any luck, Danny thought hopefully, the rest of them would be too scared to come crawling out of the woodwork when news of what happened here reached them.

Disdaining the front door, Danny merely walked through it and headed upstairs to his room, utterly exhausted but exhilarated from the entire experience. A sleepy smile spread across his face as he flopped onto the pillows without even changing into his pajamas, and for the first time since returning home, Danny slept a deep, dreamless sleep of enormous relief.

It's a pity that such relief turned out to be premature.

A/N: Well, THAT bodes ill for Danny, doesn't it? XD And it looks like the Society FINALLY got what was coming to them, especially that cow Barousse! But what vile plans does Skryme have up his sleeve? Will he be caught or get away clean? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! If you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

I know you all have been waiting for this moment for a long time, and I sincerely hope that you found this chapter to live up to all its hype…*is nervous*

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	22. Chapter 22

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_Here the hammer-stroke will fall hardest…"-Gandalf the White, "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" (2003)_

Chapter 22: Beginning of the End

_Prologue_

_Washington, D.C._

Andrew Skryme's entire body shook with rage as he gently, with trembling fingers, placed his office phone back onto the receiver. His eyes were wide as a disturbing light glittered in their depths, and he took a deep, shuddering breath before sending the device crashing to the ground, his face contorting with fury as spittle rolled down his lips. His rat-like features grew positively rabid as Skryme began to lose his mind, and he put his entire foot through the monitor of his desktop computer with a cacophonous _krash_ as he scurried around the room with frenetic energy.

It wasn't supposed to work out this way! The Society was supposed to do Skryme's work _for _him! They were supposed to run Danny Fenton and his nauseating little friends clear out of the country, to make the ghost boy pay for ruining Skryme's career! Brody was supposed to have _died_ by now, for Christ's sake, but now, with one devastating strike, the ghost boy and his pathetic allies had very nearly destroyed Skryme's entire network in the course of a single night!

The more Skryme thought about it, the angrier he got. Every beat of his blackened heart began to move toward a single, terrible goal as he methodically ransacked his entire office in a seething, red-tinged rage, and the expensive knickknacks that lined the shelves of Skryme's book case shattered like Christmas decorations as they broke into a million little pieces upon the hardwood floor. The now-ruined desktop monitor was hurled clean through the window and into the adjacent yard as Skryme's hate began to consume him from the inside out, and as his eyes began to grow ringed with crimson, Skryme slammed the door behind him and headed out into the parking lot. His job was as good as lost, anyway, but he didn't care; all that mattered now was having the last laugh at the Fenton kid.

And the ex-Major just happened to have just the thing to accomplish that terrible goal. It was a particular item he'd acquired sometime back that he'd been saving for a proverbial rainy day.

Skryme's expensive Mercedes _beeped_ as the newly-turned psychotic opened the trunk, and the long, rectangular case that he retrieved from its depths seemed to give off an air of overpowering menace. With practiced speed, Skryme flipped it open, holding the hidden Kalishnikov sniper rifle lovingly in his arms while he slotted a round in the chamber.

"Well, if you want something done right…"

_K-CHACK._

"…Do it yourself!"

_Now…_

_The Fenton Residence, 7:30 p.m._

Danny Fenton was actually _whistling_ cheerfully as he stepped out of the shower that morning. He had good cause to feel rather pleased with himself, seeing as how he and Brody had crushed the Society of Light only the previous evening. Danny's heart welled with fierce satisfaction as he remembered how his bigoted teacher, Claudia Barousse, had been shoved unceremoniously into the back of a police cruiser, and how her confederates had been rounded up like fleeing animals as they tried vainly to escape.

The great weight that the Society had placed on Danny's shoulders had finally been lifted, and now Danny was looking forward to simply getting on with his life.

A smile bigger than a peeled banana crossed his face as he tugged his shirt over his shoulders, and as Danny thundered rapidly down the stairs to the kitchen, he felt his stomach growl with the vigorous insistence that only teenage males are known to have.

Danny paused on the way out the door, snatching a package of frosted Pop-Tarts before pulling his backpack on. The familiar weight of his books was almost comforting as he bit into the sweet pastry, and Danny shoved the door open wide-

-Only to find, to his horror, that the hounds of the media had been camping out on the sidewalk next to his house.

Spots danced in front of the young man's eyes, and he instinctively put a hand up to shield them as the questions flew thick and fast.

"Mr. Fenton! Mr. Fenton! What are your thoughts on the raid last night?"

"Do you plan on pressing charges?"

"Are you going to return to school now that the Society is in custody?"

Danny sighed. _I really don't have time for this, _he thought. _But maybe they'll go away for a bit if I talk to them for a few seconds._ "Quiet down," he said calmly, raising a hand.

And they did. Instantly.

"No, I'm not planning on pressing charges," Danny shrugged. "I just want to move on. My thoughts on the raid are my own, and yes, I do plan on returning to school, which I'm going to be late for if I don't get a move on."

Two telltale rings of light flashed over Danny's body as he switched into his ghost form amidst cries of astonishment, and with a _swish_ of rushing air he soared over the heads of the surprised reporters. The wind forced Danny's head back as he hightailed it to class, and for the first time in days, he felt happiness rather than dread as he saw Casper High's familiar structure enter his line of sight.

With all the swiftness and skill of a swooping falcon, Danny touched down brazenly into the middle of the courtyard. He waved cheerily at any who might have happened to turn his way, and some part of Danny noticed that the general atmosphere of the student body had definitely changed.

It was as though many of Danny's peers felt…ashamed, for lack of a better word. They no longer went out of their way to avoid him like a carrier of the plague, but neither did they go out of their way to talk to him. The difference was that many appeared unable or unwilling to face Danny after the Society's veil of hate and bigotry had been lifted from their eyes, and the ghost boy noticed that many a boy and girl stole a furtive, almost apologetic look in his direction, as if to say, "Hey, it wasn't _me_ talking behind your back."

Danny would have been completely justified in blowing all of them off with a wave and a bitter comment, but that was not his way. Instead of righteous anger, he opted instead to smile and nod at any who passed him by, as if to let them know that all was well once more.

"You look awfully…_bubbly_ today," the voice of Sam Manson said in his ear.

"I _feel_ bubbly," Danny smirked, turning to face his girlfriend as Tucker walked up to join her. "You heard what happened, right?"

"If you're referring to the way you and Brody ground the Society into dust, then yes," Sam grinned. "It's all over the papers. Speaking of which, the _Amity Herald_ issued a recall and a full front-page apology about the article they printed about you the other day; apparently they're jumping on the bandwagon now that the Society's gone."

"I'll have to read it when I get the chance," Danny laughed. "It'll be interesting to see how they try to cover their butts from a lawsuit or something."

"Barousse definitely got the worst of it," Tucker put in. "I know you're probably not gonna pursue this, Danny, but let me tell you, Brody really threw the book at her. Word is that she's already been fired _and _lost her teaching license."

"That's the best news I've heard all day," Danny replied cheerfully as the bell rang shrilly. "C'mon."

The two friends, following the young hero's lead, joined the mass exodus of students pouring inside the school. The courtyard emptied faster than a bottle with a hole in its base, and no sooner had Danny entered the school's interior that he found himself accosted by his old tormentor, Dash Baxter.

"That's far enough, Fenton," Dash said, his muscle mass blocking Danny's way. "I've got one thing left to say to you."

"Yeah?" Danny asked, utterly exasperated. "What's that?"

Dash looked Danny right in the eye, and for once, his tone lost its jeering edge as he opened his mouth. "I'm sorry."

Danny stared. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Dash said, seemingly sincere before his usual demeanor reasserted itself. "Don't make me say it again, okay?"

Danny grinned crookedly. It was obvious that admitting fault was hard for Dash, and he nodded seriously as he stuck out his hand. "I accept your apology," he said simply. "As far as I'm concerned, it never happened in the first place."

Dash gripped Danny's hand firmly, his smirk back in place. "Don't think I'm gonna get all chummy now, though. I still don't like you, Fen-turd."

"Well, that's good," Danny grinned back fiercely, "Because I'm not that fond of you, either."

Dash shoved his hands into his pockets and skulked off, and Danny clasped Sam's hand firmly as the three youngsters approached Lancer's classroom.

"Did Dash just…apologize?" Sam's tone was disbelieving. "I didn't think he was capable of it."

"I don't expect to hear it from him a third time," Danny's grin was sardonic as he took his seat at his desk. "But to his credit, he _did_ seem like he meant it."

"Mr. Fenton, if you would refrain from conversing once the lesson begins, it would be much appreciated," Lancer's familiar dry tone drew the boy's attention.

"Yes, sir," Danny nodded, not willing to argue for the sake of remaining in his teacher's good graces. "Sorry."

"Today," Lancer began, a twinkle in his eye "In light of the events of these past weeks, we will suspend our lesson on Tolkien for a brief time while we delve into the fascinating world of literature from the era of the Civil Rights movement. This period in history was a time of great cultural and literary significance for the African-American community, and thus many of the works we will cover are held in extremely high regard."

Lancer looked directly at Danny whilst he spoke, and the ghost boy began to believe that his teacher had come up with this lesson plan specifically for his benefit. The poignancy of the assignment certainly wasn't lost upon him, after all, and the timing was too perfect to point to a mere coincidence.

"Now, if you will turn to Chapter Fifteen in your textbooks, we will begin reading. Mr. Fenton," Lancer added, smiling, "Why don't you begin?"

_Epilogue_

_Amity Park, 2:45 p.m._

A very disheveled and unkempt-looking little man, reeking of body odor and sporting a layer of stubble on his unshaven cheeks, stared balefully at the high school that lay across the street from the roof of the parking garage where he now stood. His enormous buck teeth and watery, shifty eyes gave him a naturally suspicious appearance as he hurriedly unfolded a three-legged tripod from the case by his side, and no sooner had he set this up than Andrew Skyrme peered maliciously down the scope of his long-range weapon.

Any moment now, that stupid Fenton kid and his little friends would come striding out of that building, and when they did, Skryme was going to kill _all _of them, including Brody. _Especially_ _Brody_, the ex-Major added silently. _I didn't drive all night to get here for nothing! Oh, how I'm going to enjoy painting the sidewalk with his brain!_

The firearm made a menacing _click_ as Skryme pulled the safety off, and with venom in his veins, he _waited…_

A/N: Yes, I know this is a very short chapter, and for that I apologize. But in all honesty, the whole thing was just one big intro to what I've got planned for the next one! Trust me, chapter 23 will more than make up for it, and _Quill N. Inque always keeps his word!_ ^^ As always, PLEASE REVIEW! If YOU have any ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW!

The end of this tale draws near, my friends.

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque


	23. Chapter 23

Breaking Dawn

A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own Danny Phantom.

"_I'm not gonna kill him. But I __am__ gonna kick his ass."-Hellboy, "Hellboy II: The Golden Army" (2008)_

Chapter 23: The Final Vendetta

The shrieking of the final bell had never sounded sweeter than it did to the ears of young Danny Fenton as he and his two stalwart companions joined the thundering herd of Casper High students as a massive exodus towards the parking lot turned the freshly-mopped hallways into congested, bottlenecked traps of cacophonous humanity. Snatches of conversation blended together jarringly in a discordant, enormous drone, and Danny opened the door wide with a flourish, denoting his cheerful demeanor, and held it open wide for Sam to pass through.

"You know I don't like that sexist crap," Sam told him teasingly, punching him playfully in the arm.

"Force of habit," Danny smirked back, glancing at her with love in his eyes. "I guess I'm just old-fashioned."

"I get enough of that from my parents," Sam shuddered. "I sure as heck don't need it here."

"Take it or leave it," Danny said sweetly, as the familiar, hulking form of Brody appeared in his peripheral vision amidst the telltale throbbing of his rental car's engine.

"Looks like our ride's here," Tucker nodded at the agent before putting on a Bruce Wayne impression. "Take me to Fentonworks, Alfred."

Brody's eyes narrowed dangerously. "One more chauffeur joke and I'm gonna take a kneecap, four-eyes."

"Sorry," Tucker backed off with extreme haste. "My bad."

"Damn right it was," Brody muttered. "Now let's get the hell outta here before those vultures who turned up at Danny's house this morning figure out we haven't left yet."

"I'm with you on _that _one," Danny agreed. "You'd think they'd get tired of trying to get a scoop on me after a while…"

"You kidding?" Brody snorted, draining the last of his Starbucks. "With the Society raid the other night and your name already famous, they're gonna congregate here like sharks to a whale carcass."

Sam stared at him, surprised by the expression the old cop had used to punctuate his point.

"I like 'Shark Week,' okay?" Brody told her testily. "It's one of the few things other than coffee that I look forward to anymore."

"Can we go now, please?" Danny's voice was nervous as he glanced to either side of where he stood. "Before I get blinded from camera bulbs again?"

"Already on it, kid," Brody replied, gesturing toward the Prius he rented.

"Nice car," Tucker told him sardonically. "Or is it a toaster?"

"One more word, geek-wad, and you're gonna be riding in the _trunk."_

"Maybe then we can get some privacy," Danny murmured teasingly, bending slightly to kiss Sam on the lips.

_Meanwhile…_

Ex-Major Andrew Skryme watched with glee as Danny Fenton's tell-tale mop of raven hair appeared through the doorway, and the young man's temple was in the middle of his rifle's scope as he adjusted his aim for only a moment. When the villain was sure that his round would fly true, he squinched one eye shut, took a deep breath, and pulled the trigger.

Yet, it was at that very instant, in spite of a million-to-one odds, that Danny decided to lean in close so as to embrace his beloved. The place where his head had been only a second before was now empty, and the _crack_ of spent gunpowder rang with earsplitting volume as the bullet missed its mark cleanly. The entire student body began to panic at the sound of gunfire, their screams and shouts mingling with the pounding of feet as they scattered in all directions, and Skryme swore silently to himself as he abandoned his spent firearm and promptly fled across the roof to the sanctuary of inside the parking garage.

At the same time, Tucker Foley suddenly gasped with shock and pain and clasped a hand to his side, clutching the bleeding would where the bullet meant for Danny had struck him. The round, it seemed, had ricocheted off a nearby wall and drilled like a hot poker through snow into the side of Tucker's chest, and now Danny's friend collapsed almost tiredly as Brody dove to catch him.

"OH, MY GOD!" Sam screamed, her formerly tough nature seeming to have vanished at the sight. "What was that?"

"TUCKER!" Danny yelled, supporting his friend in as Brody eased him to the ground. "NO!"

"He's been shot," Brody told him flatly. "And it doesn't look good if we can't get an ambulance here. You got a phone?"

"I have one," Sam replied numbly, her tone shaking as she handed him her Blackberry. "Here."

The old agent swiftly dialed a well-known emergency hotline with practiced fingers, and before the receptionist on the other end picked up, he gestured for Danny to leave.

"You go and get the son-of-a-bitch who did this," Brody told him. "I'll look after Tucker."

"Where did the shot come from?" Danny asked.

"I think it came from over that way!" the cop replied, pointing toward the parking complex. "Now get moving! Don't let him escape!"

Danny's eyes followed Brody's pointing finger, and from across the street, he could just make out the silhouette of Andrew Skryme fleeing to the cement structure's lower levels.

Even from that distance, though, the man who'd made Danny's life miserable was unmistakable, and now Danny's eyes glazed over with rage as he shifted into his ghost form with practiced ease.

_Oh, no you don't,_ he vowed silently, taking to the air like a vengeful falcon. _Not this time! __Not this time!_

His palms glistened with ectoplasmic energy that roiled and sizzled like forked tongues of crackling electricity, and with tendrils of eldritch fire wafting down his arms, Danny Fenton let out a feral, almost animalistic snarl as his soared through the air like a vengeful spirit. His teeth clenched with fury at the sight of his dearest friend who now lay on the grass amidst a puddle of blood, the young hero felt the blood in his veins sing an angry, joyous song as the full might of his frightening power came to the fore. Joyous, because of the destruction that he knew he could wreak upon the fleeing Skryme, and anger due to the fact that he could not indulge in it at this very moment. The ectoplasm that coated Danny's molecules _burned_ with a great and terrible fire, and so great was his wrath that day that the ghost boy was a terrible sight to behold. All the injustices and wrongs that Danny Fenton had suffered from Skryme's malice made his heart beat a frenzied rhythm like the drums of war as he pursued his quarry. A banshee's ill-boding shriek was Danny's cry as he bellowed his challenge to Skryme's back before the little man vanished into the garage's interior, and his anger turned to outrage as the very _air_ seemed to impede his progress…

_Meanwhile…_

Thomas Brody felt blood well up between his fingers as he pressed a bloody hankerchief to the ragged, spurting hole in the side of Tucker's waist. The boy's face had utterly drained of color, white and pale as a year-old corpse, and the agent's wizened, coarse features sagged with worry as he slapped Tucker's cheek gently. "C'mon, kid, c'mon! Stay with me! You're all right!"

"It…_hurts…_" Tucker grated, tears of agony rolling down his face. "Make it…_stop…"_

"The paramedics will be here in just a few moments," Sam reassured him as Tucker's eyes rolled aimlessly, his tongue lolling not unlike that of a dog's. "Please, just hang on!"

"I don't think…I have…a few minutes," Tucker replied dryly, his tone sputtering as it went from sarcasm to frightened terror. He clasped Sam's hand tightly as his words devolved into a whimper. "I don't…wanna die, Sam! I don't…"

"Don't speak," she replied, returning his grip with anxiety that bordered on panic. "Stay with me, Tucker!"

Tucker tried to laugh, but it turned into a bloody cough as red spittle dotted his lips. "Never…mind…me…" he gasped. "Danny…Where's Danny?"

"Going after Skryme," Brody grated, his gaze harsh as the ambulance pulled into view. "And I'd hate to be in _his_ shoes when Fenton catches up. Help me with your friend, would you?" he added, turning to Sam.

The police officer and the Goth gingerly lifted their wounded friend off the ground as paramedics stormed onto the campus, and the EMTs placed the injured boy onto a gurney before loading him carefully into the emergency vehicle's interior.

Sam watched them with worry, but then her eyes were drawn to Brody as he began stalking off in the direction Danny had taken. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going after Fenton," Brody replied.

"To make sure he doesn't murder Skryme," Sam nodded understandingly.

"You're kidding, right?" the agent flashed her a crocodile's grin. "I just want a chance to kick Skryme's ass myself before Danny's through with him…."

_Back at the parking garage…_

Skryme's breath sobbed in his throat as his footfalls echoed deafeningly in the cavernous structure of cement and concreted, and the rows of motionless vehicles flew by him in an indistinct blur as his panicked flight picked up speed. His legs pounded the asphalt like the pistons of a train as he sought to evade his relentless pursuer, and with a slide that would have put a professional baseball player to shame, Skryme dove behind the nearest car to dodge the ecto-blast that was aimed at his head. As he did so, the villainous ex-officer pulled a pistol from his coat pocket and promptly opened fire, and the gunshots acquired earsplitting proportions as their echoes rebounded and rolled off the low-hanging walls and ceiling.

Danny, in hot pursuit, had seen this coming. Rather than expend energy turning himself intangible, he merely stepped to one side with frightening speed and let the hail of whizzing lead pass harmlessly. The rounds bounced and sparked as they missed their intended target, and no sooner had Skryme finished letting out a defiant snarl than he was back on his feet again.

Danny, seeing this, promptly became airborne and answered Skryme's hissing, wordless challenge by slinging a flurry of ectoplasm in Skryme's general direction. The searing-hot energy scorched the pavement and melted the asphalt wherever it touched, and one of them even set the sleeve of Skryme's coat on fire.

The rat-faced little man let out a shriek as he continued to run, patting frantically at the hungrily licking tongues of flickering fire that threatened to blacken and ruin the flesh of his upper arm. Before the hem of his jacket had even finished smoldering, Skryme cursed viciously as he slotted another clip into his sidearm with trembling fingers, turned, and let loose another volley of whizzing, metallic death.

Danny dove like a dive-bomber from the Second World War to avoid having holes punched in his chest, and Skyrme used that opportunity to take shelter behind a nearby column-

-Only to sob in terror as Danny's hand reached _through_ the large pillar like the hand of Death himself and make to snatch him by the collar of his shirt. Skryme only just barely avoided being grabbed like a mouse in a hawk's talons, and, hissing defiantly, he took off running again as his lungs began to go into overdrive.

Danny was right behind him.

Skryme could _hear _his rasping breath just over his shoulder, he could _feel_ the ghost boy's fingers seeking to wrap around his villainous neck and throttle him like a chicken. Danny's eyes glowed balefully like the pits of howling Hell as he resolved to pursue Skryme to the ends of the Earth if need be, and the former Major let out a terrified, rodent-like squeak as a blast of ghostly energy pockmarked the concrete where his foot had been scarcely a second prior.

"Face me, coward!" Danny screamed. tears of anguish rolling down his face as he remembered how Skryme had inflicted such suffering on his loved ones. "Face me, and answer for what you've done!"

"Go join your little friend in Hell, Fenton!" Skryme hissed back, putting on another burst of speed.

"_You first,"_ Danny snarled back. With furious speed, he lobbed another roiling thunderbolt of energy downward with all the swiftness of the Grim Reaper swinging his scythe, and the resultant shockwave caused by the small explosion knocked Skryme completely off his feet and into the air. Danny, sensing victory, moved in for the proverbial kill so fast that the air _hissed,_ and his knuckles made a sickening, bone-jarring _crack_ as they connected with the side of Skryme's face. The former officer let out a startled cry as the blow sent him plummeting earthward, and the asphalt caved in slightly where his body made contact with it. Skryme, fueled only by his hate of Danny, desperately tried to draw his weapon-

-Only to have his face fall in dismay as the ghost boy seized the firearm by its handle and deliberately crushed it. Danny's foot shot out in a sweeping arc as he took Skryme's legs right out from under him, and the villain let out a cry of dismay as his enemy followed this up with an elbow strike to the center of Skryme's face. The rat-faced man's nose shattered like glass amidst a geyser of blood as Danny broke it into a million pieces, and Skryme automatically clutched his wounded face as he tried vainly to get away.

But Danny had no such thoughts in mind. Lashing out, he grabbed Skryme by the scruff of the neck and whirled him round, _hard,_ and the switch in direction was so sudden that the only thing which stopped the ex-Major's dizziness was Danny's fist as it connected with a mighty uppercut to the underside of Skryme's jaw. The fillings in the man's teeth came loose as he nearly bit his tongue in two, and Skryme howled in agony as Danny continued to give him the long-overdue thrashing that he so thoroughly deserved.

"_That's for Tucker!" _Danny cried, bringing his fist around again and backhanding Skryme across the face with a satisfying _smack _that busted the villain's lip and nearly dislocated his jaw.

"_That's for Brody!"_

Skryme collapsed at Danny's feet, trying desperately to crawl around the corner to make his escape, but he was only able to pull himself halfway round before he let out a horrified screech as Danny pulled him back. The vile, rodent-featured little man coughed wetly as Danny's foot connected with his rib cage, and an ecto-blast to the chest made him airborne before he collided jarringly with the windshield of a nearby car. Skryme let out an agonized groan as Danny continued to take his revenge for all the hardship he'd endured at the villain's hands, and as the ghost boy landed a punishing, gut-wrenching blow to his innards.

"_AND THAT'S FOR SAM!"_ Danny roared, lacing his fingers together and bringing a double-fisted pile-driver down onto the back of Skryme's neck. Seizing the stunned little man by his shirt collar even before the villain's head had stopped ringing, and with brutal force, Danny swung him round and bashed his forehead against the hood of a nearby car.

_WHANG!_

The skin of Skryme's upper cranium split under the merciless impact, and tears of anguish squinched from his eyes as Danny's iron grip threatened to wrench his hair from his scalp. The thick metal buckled as though it were made of cheap plastic, and Skryme's head left a large indentation where it had connected with the once-pristine coat of paint.

_WHANG!_

Skryme's jaw rattled with the force of the blow as Danny brought his head down upon the ruined metal once more, and his eyesight became blurred and unfocused as a thin ribbon of red-stained drool dribbled onto his shoes.

_WHANG!_

For a third and final time, Skryme felt his skull threaten to shatter as the metal rushed up to meet his descending head. Blood ran into his eyes from the gash in his skin as Danny contemptuously shoved him to the ground, and yet, despite the ex-major's now pitiable state, he had hardly made contact with the pavement than Danny was on him like a ravenous wolf sensing a kill. The ghost boy's knuckles became skinned and bloody as Skryme's cheeks swelled and bled under the torrent of blows that rained down upon him like a vengeful torrent. Crimson ichor seeped out of the corner of the villain's mouth as he opened his mouth to speak, and when he finally summoned up the strength to speak, Skryme's tone was a hoarse, gasping, croak not unlike a toad's.

"Please…mercy…"

"_You didn't show Brody, Sam or Tucker any mercy, so why should I show any to __you?__" _Danny hissed, staring down wrathfully at him as he hauled his enemy to his feet and shoved him back down again. Skryme grunted with pain, stretching his hand upward, but the young hero growled furiously and brought his heel down on the extended fingers like a razor-sharp guillotine. Several bones crunched audibly as the former officer writhed and bucked like an agonized worm, but his groans turned to gasping , breathless whines as Danny clutched him by the neck and swung his feet clear off the floor. His glowing green eyes met Skryme's with all the terrible fury of an avenging angel, and the villain's heart quailed with horror as fear unlike any he'd ever felt before clenched Andrew Skryme's blackened, shriveled heart in a vise-like grip.

At that point the combination of excruciating pain and the gravity of his wounds, coupled with his sudden spell of mind-numbing, soul-searing fear, became too much for the battered Skryme. The beaten and bloodied little man who'd caused Danny so much suffering let out one final, agonized moan before his consciousness deserted him, and he sagged, like the pathetic sack of humanity he was, against the side of the car as Brody came huffing up behind Danny's turned back.

"Next time," the agent panted, wiping sweat from his brow before digging a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. "Take the elevator. Not all of us can fly, kid, and my old bones can't handle running up eight flights of stairs. Jeez, he looks like a wreck, doesn't he?" Brody added, nodding at the prone form of Skryme.

"He deserved all of that and more, after what he did to Tucker," Danny said fiercely. "Speaking of which, is he okay? Tucker, I mean."

"I've already called the EMTS, so your friend's probably in intensive surgery by now. I'm no doctor, but I've seen enough wounds to make an educated guess. From what I saw, if our luck holds, I'm guessing that he _should _survive his injuries, assuming there aren't any complications. And besides, Danny, what _you_ did was more merciful than what _I _had in mind, to be perfectly honest."

"Is that so? What _did _you have in mind?" the ghost boy asked, his curiosity aroused.

Brody merely winked cheerily at him in response, and Danny would later reflect that he had _never _seen anything more terrifying.

_Epilogue_

_5:00 A.M the following morning, Amity Park General Hospital_

The world outside was still dark as Tucker Foley let out a soft, muted groan between clenched teeth as the numbing effects of the anesthesia began wearing off. He tried to sit up, gasped with pain, clutched his side and promptly fell back onto his sheets like a fallen tree. His torso was bare, covered in fresh, white bandages, and his belongings lay on a table just out of arm's reach as his vision began to clear.

Tucker moaned as he clutched his side, feeling the tender flesh that still had yet to heal from the wound Skryme had so callously inflicted. "What happened?" he asked no one in particular, probing the ragged hole with curious fingers through the swathes of cloth that bound it tight.

A wave of nausea, brought on by the effects of the medicine, washed over Tucker without warning, and he flopped back onto his pillow as his stomach threatened to rebel. "As if I didn't need another reason to hate hospitals," he muttered, clutching his belly. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

"You will be, if you keep moving around like that," a thoroughly disapproving Dr. Dourman replied as he went about his ministrations. "Just lie still and let the painkillers do their work, okay? If you squirm too much, you could reopen the wound, and then the past hour that I spent stitching it up will have been for nothing."

"Your sympathy is overwhelming," Tucker muttered under his breath.

"You do realize that you are the third person in Mr. Fenton's immediate circle of friends and family that I've treated in the space of a month," Dr. Dourman glanced over his spectacles at him. "Is it a requirement that all his friends and family get injured in some fashion?"

"It wasn't Danny's fault!" Tucker cried instinctively, rushing to defend his friend.

"I know," the physician nodded. "I was merely commenting on the coincidence, that's all. And while we're on the subject of your friends, I was told to inform them the minute you regained consciousness. They're waiting right outside, Mr. Foley; shall I send them in?"

"You really have to ask?" Tucker smirked back.

As if on cue, Danny Fenton phased right through the door and, running at top speed, embraced his friend in a fierce, tight hug. The ghost boy utterly cast aside any notions of invitation or propriety in his desperation to see his friend, and Tucker gasped in surprise and pain as Danny pulled him into a crushing hug that aggravated his injury.

"That…_hurts…_" Tucker gasped.

"Sorry," Danny said hastily, releasing him as the rest of his friends and family filed into the hospital ward. "My bad, Tuck."

"It's about time you woke up," Brody grunted in Tucker's direction. "I was beginning to think they'd given you too much anesthetic."

"That's his way of saying he was worried about you," Sam clarified, nudging Brody teasingly.

"Where's Skryme?" Tucker inquired.

"He's unconscious and drooling in the back of my car," Brody said with a ferocious grin. "And he's facing about fifty years in prison for everything he's done. He'll be an old man if he ever gets out of the clink, and I think we've seen the last of him for a long, long time."

"Without his direction, the Society of Light is all but beaten," Danny added. "Brody and I have spent the last twenty-four hours mopping up what's left of it."

"And, of course, the Casper High school administration is groveling to get on Danny's good side," Sam snickered. "They're afraid he'll sue, after what happened with Barousse, and the paper issued a recall on the article that it printed about the two of us the other day."

She grasped his hand discreetly, and a blush spread across Danny's face as Tucker asked, "How long am I gonna be in here?"

"Optimistically, at least six weeks," Brody shrugged. "The bullet nicked your kidney and fractured several ribs, and the damage only worsened when they had to dig it out of there."

"_Six weeks?"_ Tucker was aghast. "I'm supposed to spend six weeks in a _hospital? _I HATE hospitals!"

"We know," Danny said ruefully. "But we'll come by often to visit."

"At least I have my PDA," Tucker grumbled. "Otherwise I don't know how'd I manage…"

"Yeah, about that," Danny rubbed the back of his head nervously. "Your PDA is…broken."

"_WHAT?"_

"It shattered when the bullet pierced it," Sam shrugged. "Sorry, Tuck. I know how much it meant to you."

"I'm gonna _kill_ Skryme," Tucker howled. "Now I'm stuck in a _hospital_ with no technology!"

"It could be worse," Danny reminded him. "You could be dead."

"True," Tucker admitted. "It's better than the alternative, I guess."

This was followed by an awkward silence, and Sam was eventually the one to break when she turned to Danny and asked, "So what now?"

Danny gripped her hand again and kissed her lightly as a roguish grin sprouted on his face. "We do what we've always done. We fight ghosts, and we keep Amity Safe."

"I'm sure I could convince my buddies at the Bureau to let me stick around a while," Brody grinned. "Maybe you guys could teach me a thing or two about this ghost business."

"We'd be happy to have you," Danny told him, his smile wide as he relished the simple pleasure of being with those he loved.

"Hey Danny, check it out. The sun's starting to come up," Sam noted, pointing out the window toward the golden rays that began to peek over the distant horizon. The sun, as fiery as a ruby dipped in molten gold, tinged the clouds in shades of pink, red, orange and purple as though they were colored cotton balls, and the fiery orb's reassuring illumination bathed the hospital room in its honey-colored embrace as its angelic presence banished the darkness of night away. The inky blackness disappeared like water on a hot day as twilight turned to morning so as to herald the dawn of a glorious new day, and the chirping of birds was as a herald's trumpet as the flora and fauna welcomed the morn with the glorious symphony of nature. It was as though the great artisans of ages past had used the heavens as their canvas, and as his eyes took in the beautiful and promising sight, Danny Fenton felt the weight of his hardship begin to at last vanish from his shoulders.

"Yes. Yes it is," the young hero murmured in Sam's ear kissing the back of her hand softly. "In more ways than one."

A/N: Well, it looks like that bastard Skryme finally got what he deserved! ^^ It is with great pride and pleasure that I present the final installment of my humble tale as a parting gift, and I thank all of those who have blessed and humbled me with your continued subscription and encouraging feedback. A special shout-out goes to all of those who took the time to review my story, and so to Arteesta, DBack47, AnneriaWings, Eratic Lilium, monster, ToiletFacility, my talented pupil Namara Jane Knight, Codiak, Frostphantom, EmberMclain13, MOONLIGHT-97, BrandyMyDog, Dren's Kitten, chocolatebubble, WinxPossible, Desiree Phantom, Riye Wryder, Hypnotic, Supersonic, ultimix, Ryvan17, Jakkeirafan223, GollaG, Rosewaver, aslan333, Phantomgirl96, Lanina15, Blufox15, Insane Expectation, SRL541, DPhan28, WolfGirlHowlsAtMoon, EnderMoon, SoundlessSong, Rogue Alice, badluckgirl11, Mary Penelope, GIGA-XISBASS, Sperry426, LMDragonwing, Patch-of-Grey, ichigov13, Shadeslayer35, Hellbreaker (still LOVING that name, man!), Francois B, Out-Of-Control-Authoress, PoisonedRose12, Biisaiyowaq, ZecoreZecron, MiniSoulReaper, Aquilinus Gaspar, and Gabry, dearest Gabry, who has been reviewing my stories since day one, I send you all my undying gratitude and humble thanks for your warm comments, useful feedback, and wonderfully patient and helpful support. But I know that there are many more who followed this story to its conclusion, and so I thank you, all of you, for giving me the privilege to write for such wonderful readers. It is folks like you, my dear friends, that make me want to keep coming back for more! I take a bow as I present this final conclusion as a gift to you all, and I bid each and every one of you a fond and tearful goodbye. I have never been sadder to see a story end than I am today, and I thank you so, so much for giving me the wonderful opportunity to write for you. I hope with all my heart that you will honor me with your continued readership for many, many stores to come.

Until we meet again, I am, and shall forever be,

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. inque


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